


Curiosity, Wonder, Spontaneous Delight

by cloudings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Bisexual Harry Potter, Blow Jobs, Draco Malfoy Speaks French, Drinking, Dry Humping, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies with benefits?, Fantasizing, Flirting, Gay Draco Malfoy, Getting Together, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Improper Use of the Imperius Curse, Jealousy, Lesbian Ginny Weasley, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Partying, Porn, Scars, Secret Relationship, Sexuality, Sneaking Around, Voyeurism, as he should, but its more like, coming to terms with sexuality, enemies to friends with benefits to lovers?, if it seems like there are too many gay characters in this I say fuck you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 114,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26132473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudings/pseuds/cloudings
Summary: After Harry hears some rumours about Malfoy, he becomes more and more curious until he just has to get some answers. Malfoy is more than prepared to give him anything he needs, just as long as he gets something back in return.Harry’s not sure why he’s surprised that it’s something moderately illegal.In which Ron continues to get far too many eyefuls, Hermione has had quite enough with everybody, and Harry’s not sure why enemies to friends to friends with benefits isn’t enough for him.ORHarry becomes incredibly curious, and somewhere along the line ends up accidentally falling in love with Draco Malfoy. Because of course he bloody would.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 182
Kudos: 783





	1. An Arrangement, Begun

**Author's Note:**

> WONDERFUL ARTWORK DONE FOR THIS FIC CAN BE FOUND [HERE](https://twitter.com/grimler19/status/1304865178559885313?s=21) BY THE LOVELY @Grimler19 CHECK THEM OUT ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> HELLO.  
> First of all, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoy this as much as I do!  
> I can't actually believe I got this fic finished at last! This one has been in the making for... far too long. I started writing this at a bus stop waiting to get home from college and finished it in bed, in lockdown for a deadly virus. huh. couldn't have predicted that!  
> tags will be added as the chapters get released, and i'll be uploading a chapter once a day! this is my first time doing anything like that, so pls be patient :)  
> thanks again guys!!
> 
> comments are appreciated more than anything and i try to respond to every single one so pls lmk what u think!!  
> come talk to me on twitter @greyclouding !

> _“Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit.”_

_e. e. cummings_

  
  


“Just ask him, Harry!” Hermione stressed quietly, catching Harry staring over at the man for what seemed like the millionth time that dinner. “Who else are you going to ask? I mean, apart from a portrait of Dumbledore, I suppose, but do you really want to have that conversation with your dead Headmaster? Honestly, I’d offer to go and look it up myself to get you to stop brooding, but I highly doubt that there’s anything in the library to aid you in —”

“Yes, Hermione, thank you,” Harry said impatiently. He knew that she was only trying to help, but this was a conversation that should have never, ever happened. It was too awkward. Almost like talking about this sort of thing with your sister.

“Harry,” she huffed, and Harry could tell without looking that her face had gone stern. “You told me what you told me, and I want to help! You’ve got to be safe, Harry, and if you want to ask somebody — who we _know_ has experience — then you know just who to ask!” She stabbed her fork into one of her sausages and Harry grimaced. She continued, “You may not like him still, but Malfoy is your best bet.”

And that, unfortunately, he was. Despite the long list of things that Harry had called Malfoy over the pitiful years that they’d been quarrelling with each other, it seemed that the one thing Malfoy was, above all, was _gay._

It had come as a surprise to some, and as obvious as an Erumpent in a sea of rats to others. Harry remembered being rather shocked, himself. After all, wasn’t that frowned upon? He remembered Uncle Vernon’s ugly words he’d used to describe people like Malfoy. He hadn’t really known what they meant at the time of hearing them, only knew that they couldn’t be very flattering. He had spat them at the telly when a man kissed another man on some soap opera that they’d accidentally flicked the channel onto. The words had made Harry feel sick. Harry had assumed that anybody the Dursleys disliked was probably, in some way, morally good. Enemy of my enemy, and all that.

Seamus had proclaimed that he’d known that Malfoy was gay ever since he’d met him, but Harry didn’t think that that was true. Dean had said that he was sure that he’d seen Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson share more than a little peck of a kiss at the Yule Ball in their fourth year, so that had him more than a tad confused. Neville didn’t really seem to have a word to say on the matter, staring with a red face at his plate. Luna had hummed softly and said that although she had known for a while, she wasn’t quite sure why they were discussing it, because it wasn’t anybody’s business but Malfoy’s own. Harry somewhat agreed. 

But it was just so… taboo, talking about stuff like this with his friends. Taboo, yes, but somehow enlightening. He didn’t really want to stop talking about it. He didn’t find it disgusting, or wrong, but he was… curious. So very curious. 

Harry had not even been sure how the news about Malfoy’s sexuality had gotten out. Surely he hadn’t spread it himself? Malfoy was a Pureblood, expected to produce an heir to the Malfoy line, wasn’t he? Harry could only imagine how his arse of a father had reacted to the news. If the news had managed to reach Azkaban yet. 

So, he had inquired in his friends how the word had managed to travel around the school, and the conversation had proceeded to bloom from there, despite both Luna and Hermione’s subsequently sad and disappointed looks. Harry bit his lip as he listened to the voices climb over each other to try and answer first, about what they heard and how they knew. Dean said that Goyle had accidentally blurted it out in potions class, whereas Michael Corner, who seemed eager to join in on the conversation, told them that Malfoy had been caught in the boys’ toilets with a seventh year Ravenclaw. Harry felt his face flush and tried not to let his imagination run away with the ideas of what Malfoy and the boy might have been doing in there. 

Hermione and Ron had both looked at him awkwardly when he’d brought it up again the next day. And the day after that. And he found that it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to look over at Malfoy (which he didn’t do that often, thank you very much) without picturing him in some sort of crude position. He didn’t know what was wrong with him.

Luckily for Harry, Hermione had come to his rescue, as she so often did. He supposed that she would have noticed that something was up with him, because Hermione, for some inexplicable reason, just always knew everything. _It’s okay,_ she had told him, _If you think that you’re the same._

Harry was unsure what she’d meant at first until it sank in, and his mouth dropped open like a fish. He sat still for a moment. Was he the same? He certainly got - er - a little hot under the collar thinking about Malfoy these days, mainly when thinking about how Michael Corner had said he’d been outed. But he hadn’t actually spent any time thinking about _other_ men, so where was the line?

He’d taken a moment, trying to think of somebody quickly so he could put it to the test. Not Ron. Definitely not Ron. Neville? Maybe not before, but he’d certainly tidied himself up a bit over the last year or so. Harry remembered the shock he’d had when he’d come back to see that. Still, it felt wrong. Was that just because they’d been friends for so long? 

He needed to expand his mind. Well, since he’d already come up, how about Michael Corner? He definitely wasn’t unattractive, and Harry had never been close with him, so what was the harm in it? He had very lovely dark hair that swooped over his eyes in a way that Harry could appreciate. He, without meaning to, really, could picture that hair splayed out over a pillow. Or Harry could even picture that hair with his own hand buried deep in it, locks swallowing his thick fingers, the head in question down below Harry, halfway down Harry’s body, right at level with his, er, with his —

Harry had felt his cheeks flush bright red and Hermione, who had been taking in his embarrassed silence, gazed at him with a sympathetic smile. She leant over and grabbed Harry’s hand, and all Harry could say when his throat finally became moist again was, _I don’t even know what gay people do!_

Because he either was not gay, or he wasn’t really sure. He didn’t know yet.

Hermione had urged him to talk to the one person who would:

  1. Literally not be able to judge Harry. And,
  2. Have all the answers that Harry could ever want to receive. And,
  3. Have good reason not to expose him to the rest of the school (ergo, the rest of the Wizarding World) (Life-debts do come in handy).



So that was how Harry ended up in the Great Hall, trying to figure out how the fuck he was supposed to go up to Malfoy and ask him about… What? Being gay?

“Harry!” Hermione urged him once again. “Are you going to ask him or shall I?”

“Fine!” Harry said exasperatedly. “Fine. I’ll go over now.”

But then Ron had come over and asked them both what had their knickers in such twists, and Harry couldn’t possibly leave then, could he? How rude would that be? So Harry remained seated, throwing a nervous look over to Hermione, because how could you expect a polite person like Harry to leave a bloke to eat alone with his girlfriend?

*

Harry lay awake that night wishing that he’d followed Hermione’s advice. He wanted, wanted _badly_ to know not only the ins and outs of living as someone who was - different - but above all, as signalled by his being awake and restless at one in the morning, was curious to know how two blokes could have sex. 

Harry knew that there were stages. Necking, groping, handjobs, blowjobs, then full-on sex. But that was only from the brief pickings up he’d gotten from the steamy hormonal teenage conversations he’d exchanged with other guys his age. Hogwarts didn’t exactly teach sex ed, let alone for gay people. Harry supposed that was for the better though, as a disturbing image of Professor McGonagall founding them up with diagrams and - God forbid - _props_ flashed through his head.

He gulped. He supposed that, when he fantasized about what Malfoy would have been doing with that seventh-year boy, he thought about Malfoy down on his knees in front of him, mouth parted and ready. That was a blowjob, Harry wasn’t that incredibly ignorant, and he supposed that those shouldn’t differ too much from a normal, well, straight couple. Harry subtly adjusted himself over his jogger bottoms. 

The thing that got him was the full-on sex part of it all… Did that happen in same-sex relationships? The men involved would have differing equipment, after all, Harry thought, so there was nothing to - there wasn’t… 

Harry sighed. There wasn’t a fanny, was there? So what the hell did they stick their dicks in?

This is what had confused Harry. There was only one other option, really, that was down there, and he wasn’t really too sure whether that appealed to him. He liked to look at nice arses, don’t get him wrong. Men and women alike. He’d heard someone once, an older Gryffindor boy, telling his mate about how badly he’d wanted to fuck his bird in her arse. Ron had overheard that too, and spent the next minute staring into space. Harry tried very, very hard not to think about the implications of Ron becoming so suddenly distracted by this.

But… Harry didn’t much see the appeal. He _definitely_ did not see the appeal of anything, cock or not, going up _his,_ thank you very much! 

He got to sleep eventually, pushing any regrets and nerves from his mind. And if, when he woke up, he was embarrassed by any of the contents of his incredibly graphic dream, he pushed that far out of his mind as well.

*

Hermione gave one persuasive, possibly murderous look at Harry as he entered the Great Hall for breakfast and said nothing after that. He didn’t know whether or not it was because she’d become stubborn and decided that if Harry didn’t want to finally know for himself then _fine,_ that was his problem, or maybe, possibly because Ron was sat down directly opposite her. 

“Sleep alright, Harry?” asked Ron, and Harry shook his head in a deep grimace. 

“Managed to drift off about half one?” Harry shrugged. “Not that bad.”

Ron nodded sympathetically. Harry peered over at Hermione, who was scribbling something down in an oddly coloured notebook, seemingly not paying him any attention.

Harry lifted his gaze quickly down the eighth year table and remained there. There was somebody there that Harry hadn’t really ever seen before, he was sure. He was talking to Malfoy, though it looked more like… ranting? Lashing out at him? Whatever it was, Malfoy didn’t look the least bit impressed with it. His arms were crossed and one of his light eyebrows were raised. He looked as though he thought that the boy should thank him for even giving him the light of day. 

Why did Malfoy look so good when he already thought he was better than everyone else? Harry let out a huff. He kept watching, tried not to be obviously agitated as he read Malfoy’s lips, undoubtedly asking the poor boy _are you done?_

Harry watched the boy walk away and could have sworn that he had tears in his eyes. Harry actually felt bad for him. There was naturally every possibility that Malfoy was being the same conceited bastard that he’d always been, but then, Harry thought, there was every possibility that that was the seventh year boy who had had Malfoy to himself in the bathroom. 

The thought nagged at Harry. Maybe, finally, he could put a face to the pleasant pictures that punctuated his imagination now. Maybe, now, when he thought of it, he could think of Malfoy being kissed senseless until his lips went raw. 

Harry turned around just in time to watch the boy walk away. He exited into the Entrance Hall and Harry scrambled to get up out of his seat to follow after him before he lost him completely. He had to know. He had to ask. 

“Harry?” Ron called after him, and Harry just shot him a quick smile, telling him everything was okay. He could have sworn that he’d seen Hermione roll her eyes. 

When Harry walked out, he saw the boy stood there, jaw clenched, facing the wall as he let deep breaths enter and exit his chest. 

“Er,” Harry muttered, making his presence known. “Are you alright?”

“Oh!” The Ravenclaw boy jumped at Harry declaring himself. “Sorry, I — Harry Potter?”

Harry smiled stiffly. “Yeah. You are?”

“Logan. Ah, Logan Thomas.” He wiped his wet hand on his jumper and held it out for Harry to shake. Harry took it, his smile more genuine now. 

“Nice to meet you, Logan. Are you— Why are you crying?”

Logan sniffed a small, tight smile. “You saw me with Draco, didn’t you?” he said knowingly. It sounded less like a question and more like a realisation.

_Draco._ Harry tried not to frown at that. “I saw you arguing with him.”

“He - We had a disagreement. I don’t think we’ll talk again.”

“Did he hex you or something? He looked like a prat when you were talking to him.”

“Ah… No. No hexes. I suppose he’s a little stung, though. I’m guessing you heard about him?”

Harry bristled. “I’ve heard a few things.”

“It’s true. The rumours. Somebody in his… in your year walked in on us in the History of Magic classroom.” So it _wasn’t_ in a bathroom, it had been lost in the translation of gossip after all. Harry made a mental note to remember that for… factual sake. Logan continued, “Obviously everybody knows. So, you know…” 

Harry swallowed. “He’s not very happy?” 

“That’s an understatement. But I was kind of upset with him anyway, for something else. It’s a bit tense.”

“Well… I’m sorry. Malfoy’s a cock.” Harry chuckled. “Trust me.”

Logan gave a deep sigh and nodded, then smiled at Harry with a curious glint in his eye. “Nice talking to you, Harry,” he told him, and held his gaze for longer than seemed entirely necessary while he walked off in the opposite direction. 

Harry wasn’t even really done talking to him yet. 

He seemed nice enough, though. Harry wouldn’t have been able to tell that he was gay if he hadn’t had it basically confirmed that it was him that Malfoy had been found with. He wondered whether Logan and Malfoy were together, if he had interfered in a lovers’ tiff when he shouldn’t have. That may have made him feel slightly guilty about all of the fantasies. The fantasies that Harry was _definitely not_ having.

He leant back against the wall and reflected silently. How had Malfoy met Logan, he wondered? Did Logan fight in the War with them? And if he had done, which side had the boy chosen? Perhaps his family were all Death Eaters, much like the Malfoy family. It would be a bit of a letdown, if he had been a Death Eater, but the guy had seemed excited to meet Harry like everybody else was recently, so that raised some doubts. Logan was actually rather fit, when he thought about it. Meaning only that Harry could see why Malfoy would have been interested in him, not at all that he would’ve been interested in him himself. It would have felt wrong, anyway. Logan must have been one of Ginny’s classmates.

Harry gazed in the direction that Logan had left in. If Logan was, er, gay, then maybe he didn’t need to put himself through such an awkward conversation with Malfoy at all? After all, Logan was probably far less inclined to laugh at him, or something, if Harry brought it up. However, the fact stood that Harry didn’t know him at _all_ really, and you couldn’t just go up asking strangers things like he wanted to, could you? Not to mention the fact that he didn’t _know_ the man — at least he could be sure that Malfoy wouldn’t go spilling his secrets to the Daily Prophet; he wasn’t above bringing up the life-debt to ensure that.

Though the fact stood that it wasn’t much better to ask somebody with whom you shared a mutual hatred.

“Potter.”

Harry’s head shot to the door leading into the Great Hall. Stood in the yellowing light provided by the glinting, floating candles was Malfoy himself, almost as though he’d been summoned by Harry’s thoughts. Harry couldn’t recall he and Malfoy exchanging more than a sentence since school had started up again, especially any that Malfoy had initiated himself. 

Harry nodded at him. “Malfoy.”

“What do you want with Logan?” Malfoy said, folding his arms in an imitation of how he had done so when he was listening to his poor ex-partner. 

“I don’t know what you mean, Malfoy.”

“Don’t play stupid.” Malfoy rolled his eyes, approaching Harry slowly. Harry tried his hardest not to let his mind run away with itself. “You ran out after him.”

“He was upset. You clearly didn’t care.”

“So, what?” he said, unimpressed. “Along with being the Saviour of the Wizarding World, you’re now looking to take on the title of a mind healer?”

“Why are you so concerned?” 

“He happens to be—”

Malfoy trailed off slowly, his face contorting, and Harry could tell he didn’t want to finish that sentence. Harry, remembering gradually that he had to be nice to Malfoy if he wanted some advice or answers from him, bit his lip and rubbed his palm on his robes. 

“I, uh, did hear. You know.”

Malfoy’s jaw tensed. “Hear?”

“About you. You and Logan.”

“Well done, Potter, you have proven that you have exceptional hearing abilities. What is it? Going to hex me for it, are you? Think I’m going to turn him into a Death Eater?”

Harry frowned at him. “Are you?”

“ _No!_ ” Malfoy exclaimed. “For Merlin’s sake, Potter, of course I’m not!”

“Good.” Harry watched the other man’s fist clench. “Uh, no, I actually wasn’t going to hex you. I wouldn’t…”

“Good,” Malfoy parroted him. “Now, if you excuse me, stay away from Logan.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Forgive me for believing that you’ll turn him against me.”

Before Harry had a chance to even entertain where the hell Malfoy could get that stupid idea from, he was watching the back of Malfoy’s head (and just, well, the back of Malfoy) storming away from him, down the hall. He thought very briefly about following him, about what the outcome would be if he did. Malfoy was probably going off to find Logan, and Harry couldn’t help the lingering little devil in his brain (no, not Lord Voldemort this time, thankfully) that kept telling him just what he might be able to witness if he did follow along. 

*

Harry couldn’t face up to the fact that he had missed the perfect opportunity to ask Malfoy everything he’d thought up, and so consequently, he couldn’t face Hermione either. But honestly, how was Harry meant to bring that up in the first place? In the Entrance Hall, no less, with Malfoy parading about with the hostility of a skrewt. That didn’t really help his case.

Harry was actively avoiding the common room, wandering around the empty corridors. It was nice to have the silence, nice to not have to share the space with bumbling, over-excited first years like during the light hours. He had the invisibility cloak tucked over his body, as Filch had not seemed to loosen up even in the subsequently relaxed atmosphere after the War had finished. Not to even mention the chaos that would ensue if he ran into Peeves. 

He rolled his wand in his fingers, the _Lumos_ that he’d cast continuing to light up his path helpfully. He liked the soft blue glow that it provided. It was peaceful. Tranquil, Harry thought. He should get to doing this more often. Though, after a few seconds of staring ambly down at the ground in front of him as he walked, he heard a somewhat close scuffle coming from ahead of him. 

His eyes shot up, eager, needing to find out whether or not somebody was getting hurt. He narrowed his eyes as his footsteps slowed gradually, whispering a _Nox_ and moving to hold his wand more firmly, ready, just in case. He could see a soft glow up on ahead of him, the same glow that he had just diminished from his own wand. He supposed that the urge to help people didn’t simply go away. How annoying. 

Harry turned the corner slowly, though he knew that he wouldn’t be seen even if he’d gone charging around. He didn’t think that there would be one single day in which he wouldn’t massively appreciate his invisibility cloak. Before he could notice any people, he saw a wand. Discarded on the floor, though it still had a faint glimmer of light that was helpfully illuminating the surrounding areas, was a wand that Harry had become far too familiar with. 

After all, how could he not become so familiar with the precious Hawthorn wood, in which he’d used to successfully defeat and kill the Dark Lord himself? It was the wand of Draco Malfoy, which Harry had returned to him at the start of the school year when he’d found out that Malfoy would be returning to Hogwarts with him. With very little intelligence needed, Harry soon found out why the wand had been stricken and left so far from its original owner. 

Malfoy was down on his knees, and Harry didn’t think that he’d ever seen a sight just so beautiful. 

His pretty hair was swept backwards by a familiar hand buried in it, and with his eyes peering upwards like that, ever so desperate for praise, submissive and wholly willing. The other hand of the pair was on Malfoy’s chin, rubbing circles over it gently as he supported his jaw, which, Harry had to admit, was doing a good amount of work. 

His head tilted forwards and backwards, up and down the cock that was more than his centre or focus. It seemed like his hands were itching to get involved, whether on his own cock or his partner’s, though they’d been tied behind his back in a half-hearted _Incarcerous_ spell. Harry’s cock twitched at the sight of that. 

“Fuck, Draco,” the man above Malfoy huffed out, his hand still buried deep in the gorgeously lit blond locks. Harry had been so focused on the sight of his ex-nemesis on the floor on his knees that he had completely ignored the other man who was with him. 

His eyes flickered upwards and he felt his mouth get even slicker with saliva. He could only imagine how absolutely amazing Malfoy must be with his mouth in order to elicit that kind of blissful expression from - from - _Oh. Of course._

Logan. Harry wasn’t surprised. After the little argument the two of them had had earlier, he supposed that Draco might be trying to make up to him. He licked his lips. So did Logan. 

Logan’s hand in Malfoy’s hair tightened and he watched Malfoy’s eyes twitch closed. The grunts and moans that were coming from Logan made Harry’s hand curl into a fist, his fingernails digging into his palm. His other hand tightened on the wall of the corner he was hiding behind.

Harry supposed that if the rumours, or Logan and Malfoy both confirming it themselves, had not convinced Harry of the extremely gay happenings that were going on, this would have taken the biscuit. Harry’s cock throbbed in his jogger bottoms, and he felt his mouth salivate increasingly more by the second. His eyes began to sting, as he didn’t want to waste a single second of this glorious sight by blinking it away. He couldn’t avert his gaze if he wanted to. And oh, fuck, he really didn’t want to.

Malfoy pushed back against the force of the hands on his head, and Harry watched Logan ever so reluctantly let him separate his mouth from his cock. Malfoy, however, had clearly no intention of stopping this any time soon. He moved forwards again, nudging his dick with his face and licking the shaft appreciatively. He suckled on the underside of it, near his balls, which Harry had the misfortune of not being able to see. He really supposed that he shouldn’t complain, though, as how often did his luck strike out like this? 

In almost an instant, Logan’s fingers tightened in Malfoy’s hair and he yanked his head up, forcing him to look into his eyes. Malfoy swayed a little on his knees, which looked weak and were probably going to be bruised from the hard corridor floor. His mouth remained hung open and he gazed needily from the cock he’d been separated from, and up again into Logan’s face. Harry saw him tug against the restraints behind his back again.

“Fucking hell, Draco,” he whispered with awe. “You love this, don’t you?” 

Malfoy nodded eagerly, licking his lips, chest heaving. Harry had to wonder whether or not his speech had been silenced, or if he was just doing it for effect. It certainly affected Harry, that was something he was sure about. The half-lidded eyes directed themselves towards Logan’s groin once again, and he bit his lip. Harry was astounded by how achingly keen Malfoy was for his arousal to get back into his mouth, and he had to wonder, couldn’t help himself, whether he was like this with all pricks? Would he act the same if Harry walked to him and presented him with his erection? Probably not, Harry thought, but it was a good fantasy to stash away. 

Logan pushed his head back onto his cock at once, though it seemed that he did not rest at just Malfoy’s mouth. Harry watched as, inch by inch, all of the length found itself buried deep down his throat. Malfoy sounded like he tried to make some sort of noise - whether it was in struggle or arousal, Harry wasn’t too sure, but he certainly didn’t try to pull himself off as his nose pressed to the patch of pubic hair at the base of his dick. He rolled his eyes back into his head again while Logan’s head hit the wall that he was leaning against, biting down hard enough on his bottom lip to leave visible dents. 

He must have finally finished down Malfoy’s throat, as his hips twitched multiple times before he released a low, long moan, and his breathing became heavier than beforehand. Malfoy let out what sounded like a moan as well, though with difficulty, as his vocal cords were a teeny bit preoccupied at that moment in time. 

A deep gasp for breath could be heard when Logan finally let go of the back of his head once again. Malfoy was panting, and fuck, looked so flushed, his hair tousled, his lips red and glistening with spit. That image of him was so mesmerizingly indescribable that Harry briefly considered investing in a Pensieve just so that he could relive this moment over and over again, and never even risk the idea of possibly forgetting Draco Malfoy looking like this; completely and utterly fucked out. 

Logan was pulling up his pyjama bottoms. “You know,” he said breathlessly. “As apologies go, that might be the best one I’ve ever had.”

“Yes… Well…” said Malfoy, his voice hoarse. Harry’s erection persisted when he thought again of just _why_ it was so croaky. “You’re welcome. Is it my turn?”

“What?” Logan smirked. “Want me to fuck you?” 

Harry’s ears perked up and his cheeks flushed and he suddenly remembered why he was supposed to be so interested in Malfoy and his sex life with men. It wasn’t because Harry found it extremely fucking hot, no, not at all. It was because he was… curious. Still curious.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Malfoy replied. “First of all, we’re in a blasted hallway. Anybody could see us!”

“And nobody could’ve seen us doing that?” Logan raised an eyebrow. 

Harry resisted the urge to clear his throat and expose himself then and there, because the timing would have been ruddy hilarious, if you asked him. 

“Are you going to take care of me or not?”

“So you can say his name again when you cum?” he said. He sounded a little hurt, and in the flurry of wondering who _he_ was, Harry wondered whether that was what Logan was upset about earlier that day.

“You and I aren’t lovers. We aren’t exclusive. We—” Malfoy was cut off, and let out a sharp gasp as the other man took a tight hold of his hair again. Harry was concerned for a moment, before he saw the look on Malfoy’s face and realised that he’d… he’d liked it. 

“You’re lucky you’re hot, you know,” he said to Malfoy, pulling his jogger bottoms back up.

“Merlin, I know.”

“I can't do this anymore, Draco,” Logan told him quietly, almost with regret. “It’s not good for either of us.”

“On the contrary…” Malfoy chuckled. “I would say you enjoyed that quite a lot.”

“I did.” He nodded. “But I need to focus on school. Plus, it’s kind of obvious you’re using me as an outlet.”

Harry watched Malfoy roll his eyes and mutter, “Bloody Ravenclaw.”

Logan laughed at that, and let go of Malfoy’s hair, smoothing it into place. “I want a relationship.”

“I… don’t.”

“Not with me.”

“I believe that what I just did can suffice as an apology for that as well.” Malfoy shrugged. “I am sorry.”

“It’s alright. I know it’s because you think I don’t understand you.” 

“Is this really a conversation to have right now?” He sighed. “Could you fetch my wand? At least release me.”

“Hm,” Logan hummed. “I think I’ll let you try and get it yourself. Think of this as extra compensation. Goodnight, Draco.”

“What?” Malfoy asked urgently. “Logan, are you– Logan? Logan!” he shouted in a whisper, angrily glaring after him as he began to take a few steps in Harry’s direction. Harry pressed himself against the wall tightly. It would be the end of him if he were discovered right now. He couldn’t see any way in which he could talk himself out of this. 

Logan rested his hand right beside Harry’s head, and Harry held his breath. He stared at the man, eyes wide with anxiety, his chin up as he tried to flatten himself out even more. 

“I’ll be up before breakfast to let you go,” he told him smugly. “If you don’t manage to release yourself.” 

Malfoy watched him leave with a face that was utterly haunting. He looked terrified. Harry could guess why; it was still against the rules to be out after curfew, and Malfoy was on more of a thin line than any of the other students who had returned. He couldn’t imagine how his punishments would differ to anybody else’s if he was caught breaking the school rules. 

“Fuck,” Malfoy whispered. “Fuck him.” 

He made an attempt to shuffle forwards on his knees, but as he moved closer to the wandlight, Harry was able to see that it was not only his wrists that had been bound together. No wonder he couldn’t stand up. His knees and his ankles were also tied with rope, and for some reason, that fact made Harry’s mouth water. 

Still, he wanted to help. He didn’t want Malfoy to get in trouble, and he could imagine how embarrassing this might be if he was caught by a student — let alone one of the teachers. He could just about picture the look on old McGonagall’s face if she saw this, and tried not to snort. 

Harry stalked forwards, stepping so, so slowly as to not make a single titter of noise. He was trying to focus, but his erection was still very prominent in his joggers, and it was making it extremely hard - extremely difficult. Still, he made it close enough to the wand. Making sure that his foot would still be hidden underneath the cloak, he reached out his leg and gently nudged the wand closer to Malfoy with his toe.

Malfoy froze. Harry gulped. It hadn’t gotten close enough for him yet. He stepped forwards quietly once again before proceeding to nudge it forwards once more. He watched Malfoy blink, staring with wide eyes up at what he assumed was absolutely nothing, before gawking down at the wand again, which had seemed to have developed the ability to move by itself. 

“Who’s there?” Malfoy said quietly, refusing to approach the wand which had rolled into arms reach. “Who is it?”

Harry didn’t respond. Instead, he raised his wand, pointed it at the ropes around Malfoy’s knees and cast a wordless _Relashio._ Harry could see Malfoy begin to panic. He felt bad, but he couldn’t reveal himself, and Malfoy would probably find some twisted way to get angry at Harry, even though he was only trying to help. Harry gently paced around behind Malfoy, where he silently undid the bounds on his wrists. He gaped for the split moment where he saw purple marks etched into the pale skin before Malfoy yanked them in front of himself and grabbed at his wand. He released the rope on his ankles before stumbling to stand up, his wand raised and ready, looking around nervously.

“Logan?” he asked. “If this is some sort of practical joke…”

Harry didn’t say anything once again. He decided that he was going to attempt to return to the common room now. Or perhaps to the showers, because God knows that he couldn’t sit through a conversation with anybody. Not until he’d taken care of his little problem.

He took a few steps forward, his palm sweaty now on his wand, when he saw Malfoy flinch out of the corner of his eye. In a second, without Harry knowing how, Malfoy had his wand pointed right at him, and quickly cast, “ _Revelio!”_

Harry’s cloak was snatched off of his body in an instant. He had hardly any time to even think of reacting before he saw Malfoy’s eyes flash with resentment, and he charged forwards towards Harry, backing him against the wall with the ever so familiar wand digging into the skin on his throat. Harry could feel it move as he gulped. He tried to avoid looking at Malfoy, because the sheer fury that painted his face, Harry was accustomed to it by now. That didn’t mean, however, that he wanted it directed at him anymore so than it already had been. He clutched his own wand even tighter by his side. 

“Malfoy,” he said quickly, breathing hard — yet not as hard as the man that was pressed up against him. Harry could practically feel his heartbeat. 

“What,” Malfoy spat furiously in his face, “Is your fucking problem, Potter?”

Harry attempted to calm his breathing. “I was just having a walk.”

“Rather convenient.”

Malfoy’s face was so close to his own that Harry couldn’t help but stare at every inch of it. It was almost like torture when he tried to tear his gaze away from the other man’s lips, which Harry had noticed were still extremely plump and glistening from his previous activities. He had never been this close with Malfoy before now. It felt foreign, yet natural, no matter how threatening it was to feel his wand at his throat. 

Harry wet his lips with his tongue and murmured, “Rather.”

He watched Malfoy grit his teeth. “How long have you been here?”

“Not long,” he replied. “Honestly.”

“What did you _see?_ ” He pressed his wand deeper still into Harry’s flesh.

“No matter what I saw, Malfoy, I think that you tied up, on your knees kind of speaks for itself.”

The flash of humiliation and anger that passed by Malfoy’s eyes made Harry want to apologise to him, suddenly stricken with pity. But he couldn’t bring himself to. Not now that he and Malfoy were like this. He couldn’t help but treat him equally, bicker as they’d always done. 

“Shut up,” he snarled.

“Put your wand down,” Harry said sternly. “You don’t want to fight with me.”

“Oh?” He laughed humorlessly, getting impossibly closer as he adjusted his wand, now holding it to his neck sideways, as one may do with a knife to somebody’s throat. “Why would I not —”

He knew why Malfoy had so abruptly stopped his speech and yet he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. His eyes grew wider and he felt his cheeks burn as the other man stood, now frozen in place against him. His mouth dropped a little, and as the tight knot in his chest grew more of a burden, he felt the deep heat in his abdomen grow stronger as well.

Malfoy had unmistakably felt Harry’s erection. 

Harry had unmistakably felt his.

There was a moment or ten of uncertainty between them both. Harry wasn’t entirely sure if he was going to get hexed the next time he released a breath, and yet the dark desire to roll his hips so that he could clearly feel Malfoy again stirred within him. He didn’t even know why he hadn’t been hexed yet already. 

The look on the man’s face was a picture, and Harry could barely picture how his own looked in comparison. Malfoy was experienced, so Harry thought it might not be as big of a deal, and yet he figured that it would come as a mighty shock to anyone if your childhood rival randomly pressed themselves up against your stiffie. 

If he thought that he was done for when Malfoy spotted him the first time, that was nothing in comparison to the looming dread that Harry felt washing over him. He could almost see the cogs working in Malfoy’s brain, wondering why Harry was like this, whether or not...

They both stared at each other until Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Why…?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Harry said quickly, so as to not chicken out like he thought he would. “I think I might be a bit… Curious.”

“Curious?” Malfoy repeated in a whisper. 

“About people… like you.”

“Like me.” He raised an eyebrow and pressed a little closer to Harry, accentuating his hard-on even more. “ _Only…_ like me?”

Harry gulped. “I’m trying to figure that out.”

“What did you want to ask me?”

“Uh,” Harry said awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. In actuality, he wasn’t really sure he’d make it this far. He wasn’t really sure that he’d ever get around to asking Malfoy about it at all, to be honest.

He was a second away from telling Malfoy that he’d get back to him on that one. You can’t expect a man to use his head properly when he was in this state, he was sure that half of the blood in his body had travelled south. He still wasn’t sure how to word it; flat out asking your rival how to have sex with men didn’t seem like a brilliant idea. Especially, he thought, when he was being pinned against a wall by said rival with a wand to his neck. Luckily for Harry, he hadn’t had to think of anything to say on the spot. He heard a happy humming from down the darkness of the corridor.

“Itty bitty firsties never learn!” a voice howled, nasty laughter thread through each word. “Never want to eat fish ever again, they won’t!”

Malfoy’s face twisted into one of absolute horror. “Peeves,” he said needlessly. 

It was lucky that Harry’s reflexes were impressive, but he supposed that that was what being on the run and fighting a war would do to you, after all. At least they were better than Malfoy’s, anyway, who just stood there, dumbfounded, as Harry raised his wand quickly and whispered, “ _Accio cloak!”_

The trusty invisibility cloak shot into his hand and Harry struggled to swiftly pull it over both himself and Malfoy, pulling the man closer into him so that the cloak wouldn’t accidentally give away their feet. He was so overcome with worry at the idea that of all entities that could have stumbled across them, it would have been bloody Peeves, to even think about the fact that Malfoy's body was now flush against his. The sharp gasp that came out of Malfoy’s mouth as their bodies bumped together made him sound vulnerable, and Harry remembered that Malfoy would have far more to lose if he got discovered. 

As he watched Peeves finally appear in the darkness, his body (or lack of it) giving off its own glow, Harry felt Malfoy shuffle quietly even closer. He could hear every deep breath that the man was taking and was beginning to get worried that they’d be discovered. 

“Malfoy,” Harry said quietly. “You’re breathing really hard.” 

“You fucking tosser,” Malfoy replied to him. “Why can’t that cock of a ghost piss off already?”

“Poltergeist,” he corrected with a confused look. “Why am I a tosser now?”

Harry watched Peeves freeze in mid-air, and then squint down the hall. He knew that the invisibility cloak worked against him, however, a slight jolt of anxiety still shot through his body, electric, when he saw Peeves look right in their direction. 

“Smells here, it does,” the poltergeist said suspiciously. “Smells like… Sweat!” A grin stretched across his cheeky face. 

“Stop sweating,” Harry told him in a hush. 

“I’m _not._ ” Draco huffed and stamped on Harry’s foot. Harry had to bite down on his thumb to stop himself from yelping out loud. 

“Icky boy sweat,” Peeves sang cheerfully. “Filchy will love this!” 

“He’s going to call Filch,” Harry said angrily. “We need to leave. Now.”

Malfoy closed his eyes for a second, before pushing himself away from Harry and letting the invisibility cloak slide off of his body. Harry went to grab his arm, to find only that it was too late - Peeves would see him no matter if Harry caught him now anyway. What the hell was he thinking? If he got Harry in trouble for this as well, Harry thought, he’d skin him.

He watched Malfoy smile at the poltergeist politely. “Peeves, I’ve been looking for you.”

“Ooooh!” Peeves grinned, delighted. “The Death-Eater Malfoy boy is out all alone after dark!”

“As I said, I have been searching the castle for you. I have a message for you.”

“Do you, blondie, do you?” he asked, floating closer and closer. “Let’s hear then, let’s hear! I bet Filchy’ll fancy hearing too!”

“That’s the thing, see. Filch got into a slight predicament with some first years running back to the common room in the dungeons. They all seemed to think it’s your fault. He told the Bloody Baron, you see, and I thought that I might let you know now, before he…” Harry watched Malfoy try not to smirk, pausing for effect as Peeves began to rattle under his words. “Before he comes looking for you as well.”

“Oh, he’s looking for old me?” Peeves asked. “How do I know you aren’t playing a trick on me!”

“Well, you did send a group of young Slytherins running, didn’t you?” Malfoy frowned at him, acting flawless. “How else would I possibly know that?”

Peeves’ eyes suddenly grew wide, and his contorted as he ran rigid in the air, flipping over before flying off.

Harry tore off his cloak, breathing heavily now after releasing his previously held breath. “Malfoy, come on. Before he comes.”

Malfoy turned to him with a glare. “You’re welcome, Potter.”

“I’m welcome? You didn’t do anything!” Harry said. 

He rolled his eyes at Harry but began to walk away anyway, holding his head up high again arrogantly. 

“What?” Harry asked as he jogged to catch up. “Not replying to me now? Know that I’m right?”

“I wasn’t even lying,” he said flippantly. “Whenever first-years are caught, they always go and make a fuckton of noise. It angers the Bloody Baron beyond belief. He’ll be gone for ages. You’re _welcome._ ”

“And how did you know they were Slytherins?”

He shrugged. “Peeves has had great fun tormenting the Slytherins more so now since the war. He knows that our classmates from other houses are less likely to stick up for us. Some laugh with him at us.”

Harry frowned. “So, a lucky guess?”

“Lucky. I suppose.”

He looked over towards Malfoy as they passed one of the high windows. The moonlight really made him look all the more appealing, Harry thought, dancing across his blushing skin and tousled hair, and he flushed as the memories of what he’d seen resurfaced in his mind. He was still hard, aching, and it worsened his state even further when he thought about the fact that he wasn’t alone in that aspect. Logan had left Malfoy hard and aching, bound tightly with ropes, almost as if he was for the taking of anyone who happened to pass by. 

Harry swallowed hard. He thought about what would have happened if he had approached Malfoy whilst still tied up, helpless. What if he had presented himself to Malfoy? Would he have been so aroused himself that he would have gone for it? Harry reminded himself again of the sight of the man walking next to him, down on his knees, nodding fervently as Logan asked him, _“You love this, don’t you?”_

Harry wanted to talk to him like that. He could picture the look on his face as he waited, desperate for his mouth to be filled before even thinking about laying a finger on his own cock. 

His cock throbbed in his joggers again and he reached down, pressing his wrist to it as he walked awkwardly. He could see Malfoy jerk a little in his peripheral vision, obviously startled by Harry’s movements. 

“Have some decency,” Malfoy said quietly. 

Harry had to laugh. _Malfoy_ was telling Harry to have some decency. _Malfoy!_

“Have some decency?” Harry repeated. “You’re telling _me_ to have some decency after I just found you with a cock in your mouth in the middle of a corridor?”

Harry saw Malfoy’s face grow bright pink in the subtle and soft lighting of the moon. He clenched his jaw and Harry noticed that they both had their wands out still. 

“It wasn’t my idea, Potter,” he snarled. “You must only be capable of thinking with your penis, because if you were actually listening to the conversation that you were eavesdropping on anyway, then you’d know that I was doing it as a bloody apology. And for what? Might as well have left it anyway, considering it’ll never happen again.”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” Harry said sternly. “I was taking a walk and you were just there.”

“And for what reason did you not just turn around and take your arse back to the common room?”

“You were tied up! He was leaving you!” 

“So you only saw that? None of our conversation?” Malfoy asked, his face curious.

“Yes!” Harry lied.

“Thought you’d be my Saviour, is that it? Take pity on me?”

“For crying out loud, Malfoy—”

“Just for argument's sake, if you only arrived as Logan was leaving, how did you know I had his cock in my mouth?”

Harry’s mouth opened as if to defend himself, and yet he shut it once he realised that it was completely useless. He’d fucked it for himself. If Harry didn’t even think of _himself_ of a pervert before then Malfoy definitely did now. 

He heard Malfoy laugh at him. “Why were you watching, Potter?”

Harry couldn’t answer that either. He didn’t feel comfortable answering that. 

“Oh, right,” Malfoy went on anyway. Harry could feel his gaze on him, hot and bordering on mocking.“Because you’re curious.”

Harry cleared his throat. They were approaching the eighth year common room now and he couldn’t be happier. All Harry wanted was to get away from Malfoy and go and have a long, leisurely wank, pull himself off while fantasising over and over about what he’d stumbled across in the halls. 

“And what?” Harry croaked. “What would you have preferred I had done? Left? You’d still be tied up there, you know. Peeves would have found you tied up with a take-your-eye-out stiffy.”

“Yes, instead I was pressed flush against you, with us both sporting — stiffies.” His face contorted as he said the word. “Lord, you are eloquent.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s better than the alternative.”

“I’m sure you are, Potter.”

They reached the common room door and they said the password together, shoving each other to get in first. Harry felt Malfoy’s hand brush his crotch when they squeezed through the hole and had an internal battle in his mind about whether or not Malfoy would have done it intentionally. It was completely empty, which was probably a good thing. He didn’t quite feel up to explaining why the two of them were stumbling back in at this ungodly hour, sweaty and — yes.

“Well,” Harry said awkwardly, gazing at Malfoy in the firelight. He wasn’t sure which version of the man he preferred, lit by the angelic glow of the moon or the warm haze of the fire. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Potter,” he said with a confusing smile, his eyes scanning up and down Harry’s body. “Sleep well.”

Harry was very, extremely certain that he wasn’t going to sleep well. He wasn’t going sleep well at fucking all.

*

Harry woke the next morning wondering whether or not the entire experience had been some sort of odd fever dream. If it hadn’t been for the stickiness in his hand that he’d forgotten to vanish last night then he might’ve gone the entire day thinking so. He couldn’t stop thinking about not only what he’d watched, but the feeling of Malfoy’s body pressed up against his own. He could still feel their erections pressed together if he imagined it hard enough.

Harry was becoming rapidly more confused.

At least Malfoy knew some of it now, right? Harry had told him that he was curious. He was very, very curious, and Malfoy had felt his curiosity very up close and personal. Hermione would surely say that that was a step forward, wouldn’t she? 

Harry felt as though he might’ve been a bit more obvious than usual at breakfast. Hermione obviously knew that something was up, because she was itching to get Ron to leave, asking him to fetch things for her and the like.

He saw Logan wink at Malfoy from the Ravenclaw table but the latter was clearly still angry at him. Harry wondered what Malfoy had done in order to elicit the need for such a brilliant form of apology. Harry definitely wouldn’t mind it if that was how Malfoy wanted to apologise to him about… anything? Everything? The past seven years of their lives?

Harry was basically hard again at just the thought. 

“Harry!” Hermione whispered to him when she’d finally gotten Ron caught in a conversation with Neville. “What’s happened?”

He felt his cheeks fill red at just the question. “I went for a walk last night. I found Malfoy.”

Hermione nodded. “Yes?”

“Malfoy and a fit Ravenclaw, to be exact.” 

Hermione’s eyes went wide, and she sat up straight. “Oh. Oh, my.”

He released a breathy laugh. “Yeah.”

She swallowed. Her pupils seemed to have blown wide. “Well?”

“Logan left and Malfoy saw me. I told him I was, uh…” He gave a quick glance at Ron to make sure he was still none the wiser. “I told him I was curious.”

She rang a strand of her hair around her finger. “Right… What did he say?”

“He didn’t, uh, say anything, really.”

Her eyes widened. “Harry! When I said he should help you find out what you wanted to know, I didn’t mean he had to give you—”

“No!” Harry said quickly. “No, no, that’s not what I meant! Peeves came along, we had to leave. We weren’t – No!”

And yet, he couldn’t deny that he had been thinking about that. That he wanted that now. If the way his arm still ached from the night before said anything, it was that he wanted Malfoy a _lot._

“Well, you still need to ask him, don’t you?” Hermione said. “If you don’t soon, I will.”

“Uh.”

“Exactly. I think we both know that it’ll be more practical for you to get on with it.”

Harry wished it was that simple in his head.

*

“Malfoy?” Harry asked quietly when he saw him sitting in the common room, later on, several books spread along the table in front of him. He didn’t look up at Harry when he addressed him, and so Harry cleared his throat and said again, “Malfoy?”

“What, Potter?” Malfoy said exasperatedly. 

“Are you busy?”

Malfoy took one look down at the book he was writing in, then looked back to Harry with one highly raised eyebrow. “I don’t know, Potter, do I seem busy?”

“Fine,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. “Have fun.”

As he turned to walk straight back out of the room, Harry heard a deep sigh from behind him, and a small voice that said, “Potter, wait.”

Harry looked at him expectantly. “I thought you were busy.”

“What do you want?”

“Are we going to talk about last night?”

The look Malfoy gave Harry could have burned holes through him. “What’s there to talk about, Potter? I’m sure that you’ve spent enough time going over it in your mind by now.”

Harry felt heat rising up his neck, but he didn’t give. “And if I have?”

Malfoy tensed his jaw. “What would you want to discuss?”

“I told you I was curious.”

“You did.”

“I was hoping that you might be able to help me out with that?” 

Harry wished that he had a camera. The look on Malfoy’s face when he heard him say those words, Harry was more than sure that that was one for an art gallery. He would’ve tumbled into a heap of laughter over it if it had had more time to sink into his system, as before their conversation could proceed any further, a shadow was cast over the two of them. 

“Draco?” Pansy Parkinson caught his attention. “Are you alright?”

Malfoy cleared his throat. “Of course, I’m fine.”

She scoffed. “Blaise told me you didn’t get back until late last night.”

“I was busy,” he said dismissively.

“I’m sure you were _busy._ ” She eyed Harry suspiciously, before turning the look back to her friend. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“She still isn’t a fan of me, then,” Harry said, watching her walk away. 

“I’m sure that’s astounding to you, someone _not_ fawning over your every step.” 

“Shut up,” he said back. “Will you help me?”

“What exactly do you mean, help you?”

“I mean…” Harry sighed. “I just have questions, okay?”

“I see,” Malfoy said after a moment. “Well, why should I help you?”

He blinked. “Sorry?”

“Why should I help you?” he said again. “Should I just give up my valuable information for nothing?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Valuable information.”

“It’s valuable to you, isn’t it?”

“Right,” he said. “Well… What do you want?”

A flicker of something passed over Malfoy’s eyes. “That’s a dangerous question to ask, Potter.”

“What do you want?” he asked again.

“There is something...” Malfoy said slowly. “I think you might be able to help me.”

“Help you?”

“Yes,” said Malfoy. “If you really want some information.”

“I do,” he said. “What do you want help with?”

“I… don’t want to discuss it here.” He looked around at the crowded room and Harry followed his eyes. It was almost full now. “Can we meet somewhere private? Soon?”

Harry swallowed. “Where?”

“Meet me here. We’ll find an empty classroom,” he said quietly.

“Can you give me any hints?” Harry said. “What if I’m not able to help you?”

“You will be able to help me,” Malfoy said. “I know you will.”

“And what if it’s something I don’t want to help you with?” Harry said curiously.

Malfoy glared at him. “Then I won’t help you either. Are we clear?”

He gulped. “Right. Sure. When are we meeting?”

“I don’t know,” he told him. “When I feel like it.”

“But I want -” Harry shut his eyes for a moment and sighed when he opened them again. “It’s hard.”

He watched Malfoy’s eyes wander down his body, and he cleared his throat. “Pardon?”

“No!” Harry exclaimed, placing his hands hastily over his crotch. “I didn’t mean that! I meant that - not knowing. Not being able to, you know… Figure things out…”

“Stop there,” Malfoy said. “I’m not going to say anything about this topic until we’ve made a formal agreement about our deal. This can be discussed then.” He smiled pointedly as he stood up, gathering up his books. “I’m sorry that it's hard, but some things need to be drawled over by yourself.”

And as Malfoy began to walk away from Harry, he began to realise that, as he subconsciously glued his gaze to Malfoy’s backside, he might just be absolutely right.

*

Harry drew a deep breath. He twiddled his thumbs as he sat with a cuddling Ron and Hermione, and wondered about the different things that he might end up asking Malfoy when the time came to it. What the hell would end up happening if they got to the room and Harry couldn’t think of a single question? He definitely knew of a few, but he worried that what he had to give might outdo what he wanted back from the Slytherin. 

Harry wondered how Malfoy found out about everything he knew about being gay. After all, it doesn’t just come to you as soon as you realise that you’re not straight. Harry had realised that for himself already. Had somebody perhaps taught him, or was there actually a book that existed, which held every bit of information that Harry wanted to know so badly? If someone had taught him, Harry wondered whether or not Malfoy had been as nervous about finding out as Harry was.

He heard someone clear their throat and saw a small hand push a piece of parchment towards him across the table. Harry flickered his eyes up the arm connected to the hand, and was met with the gaze that belonged to Hermione, staring at him intently. Ron hadn’t yet noticed, and didn’t still as she mouthed to Harry, _“Make a list!”_

A list? A list of what? Harry wasn’t sure what on earth she meant, but he picked up a spare quill from the table and straightened out the parchment in front of him. At the top of the paper, he scribbled the word ‘ _List.’_ After a couple of seconds, he looked back up at Hermione with a completely blank look upon his face. She rolled her eyes at him. Harry supposed that he was being dull. 

“Make a list,” she whispered to him, “of what you want to know.”

“Oh,” Harry said flatly. He looked back down towards the parchment and scribbled out a messy looking _1._ He gulped, looking around him, and then continued after thinking for a couple of moments.

  1. _How did you know you were into guys?_



That was good. That was a start. Right? Yes, he told himself, that was a start. 

  1. _How did you know you were into guys?_



_2\. I’m still attracted to girls, can I still be into guys?_

Harry hoped sincerely that the answer to that one was going to be a definite yes, otherwise he would be face to face with a whole lot of confusion. He was definitely attracted to girls. He knew that. He’d been infatuated with Cho back in the day, and with Ginny, it had been wonderful while it lasted. And yet, when he thought about men sexually, despite his lack of experience, he was so overwhelmed with lust that it almost made his head feel a little cloudy. That, rosy-cheeked, brought Harry to his third question.

_3\. How do men have sex with each other?_

He bit his lip as he finished dotting the question mark. How he was going to ask this to Malfoy with a straight face, he didn’t have a clue. It might just be easier to hand him the sheet after all, and have him look over it like a student doing a test. He could picture Malfoy now, looking down at the sheet and laughing, asking Harry _do you expect me to be able to read this chicken-scratch?_

_4\. Is it that different to men and women having sex?_

Harry thought about that for a moment to himself. Harry liked sex. Well, he liked fantasising about sex. He loved it. Having a whole other side to think about sounded brilliant beyond belief. He was starting to believe that finding out all of this information would be extremely beneficial. 

How could it be that different, though? Harry knew, as he had previously dwelled over, that there would be no vagina to penetrate. So it _would_ be different, he _knew_ that it would be different. He thought back to the passing comments he’d heard about people’s bums. Malfoy certainly had a brilliant bum. 

_5\. Are bums involved?_

Even as he wrote the words he felt immature, and couldn’t help a stupid smile spread across his face.

_6\. Is making out with a guy different than making out with a girl?_

_7\. How would you know? There’s not like... stuff advertising it, is there?_

_8\. How do you decide about blowjobs... And stuff._

_9\. Have you ever done anything with guys other than Logan?_

_10\. How old were you when you first did something with a guy?_

_11\. Do guys’ hands feel better than girls’?_

_12\. What does GIVING a blowjob feel like?_

_13\. Do people judge you?_

_14\. Have you ever been in a romantic relationship with a man?_

_15\. Did your friends know?_

_16\. How did you tell them?_

_17\. Did your family know?_

Harry stopped there. He realised slowly that some of the questions were less about being gay in general and more about Malfoy being gay. Maybe, he thought, Malfoy wouldn’t mind. Maybe Malfoy wouldn’t notice? 

He gave a nervous look up towards Hermione, who was looking at him curiously, almost as if she was waiting to see the list herself. Harry thought that he would die of embarrassment if more people than necessary saw this list.

He folded the list up asymmetrically and shoved it into the pocket of his thin dressing gown, throwing a sheepish smile at Hermione. If he thought of any more then he could write them down. 

He wondered then whether the two of them would have to meet more than once. Some strange part of him almost hoped that they would have to meet several times, though he wasn’t all too sure why. It wasn’t as if anything was going to happen. Maybe what Malfoy wanted Harry to help him with would take a while though? 

What could it be? Spell work? Harry only knew one thing for sure: it definitely was not anything to do with potions. 

“Mate?” Ron said, drawing Harry’s attention. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Sorry. Away with the fairies, there.”

“What fairies?” Ron asked, and frowned when Harry and Hermione both laughed. 

*

Another night of wondering, which turned into a week. Which turned into three weeks. Three weeks of wondering and just staring, not attempting to rush Malfoy in case he decided to change his mind, but Harry was getting unbearably impatient. _Soon,_ that was all he had said.

He had been slowly adding things to the list over the days that went on and on, new questions coming to his mind when his mind wandered unwillingly. Malfoy didn’t seem to care about Harry’s restlessness. If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d be sure that Malfoy was letting Harry go crazy, waiting. But then he realised, Harry did know better, and that was exactly the sort of thing that Harry would do. 

Harry walked into his Defense class and paused. Malfoy was already sitting down, and yet Hermione and Ron were saving a seat for him, Hermione’s bag perched on the chair. She turned to look at him as he approached, and she smiled knowingly, nodding as he looked over to Malfoy. 

“ _Go,_ ” she whispered, knowing all too well how agitated Harry had been getting recently over the situation. Before Pansy Parkinson could come in and swoop it out from under him, Harry walked forwards and sat himself down in the seat beside Malfoy. He could hear Ron asking questions and Harry struggled to ignore it because very quickly, he wasn’t the only one who had many things to ask.

“Potter,” Malfoy said, surprised. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Malfoy,” Harry replied normally, as if this were something that occurred every lesson. 

“Potter,” Malfoy said again. He swivelled his back slightly, peering at the back of the class for a second. “Pansy isn’t going to be very pleased.”

“Pansy,” Harry said, “can fuck off, frankly.”

Malfoy just stared at him, then, not saying another word, though he occasionally turned to see whether or not his friend had yet arrived. Harry didn’t have to look for himself when she did. In his peripheral vision, he saw Malfoy turn and finally see her, to which he shrugged. He noticed a small smile on the man’s face when he turned to face the front once again. 

“She doesn’t look very pleased.”

“She never looks pleased,” Harry said. 

“She has to sit by Granger, now,” Malfoy explained slowly, as if he were speaking to a being of lower intelligence. “You know, because there’s a spare seat there.”

“Really?” he asked, turning to face Malfoy now. “You would’ve thought I’d have seen that when I walked past it.”

Malfoy looked back at him, a surprised little smirk on his face at Harry’s snark. His gaze lingered. “What is it that you want, Potter?”

“Can’t I come and sit by you merely for the object of inter-house unity?”

He raised an eyebrow at him and said, “No.”

“How soon,” asked Harry, “is soon?”

“Is this supposed to be a philosophical question?” he replied. “Because I suppose it depends on what —”

“How soon until we complete our deal?” Harry interrupted him. 

“Oh.” Malfoy chuckled. “Still curious, are we?”

Harry heard the doors open at the back of the classroom and a cheerful _sorry!_ from Professor Flourish, who had arrived fashionably late as usual. He tensed his jaw as he kept his eyes on Malfoy until the Professor reached the front desk and began to register them all. Even Flourish, who had only joined the Hogwarts staff this year, had known of the animosity between Harry and Malfoy, and so a prompt noise of shock bubbled from her when she noticed their seating. 

“Now!” she announced with a clap. “Who wants to tell me about vampires?”

Harry looked around the room, saw Hermione’s hand up in the air, Pansy Parkinson at her side with a grouchy look upon her face. He turned back to face the front when Hermione started to speak (rant), and scribbled down a simple word on a small piece of parchment in front of him. 

_When?_ he wrote, _it’s been weeks,_ and slid it over to Malfoy. He saw Malfoy roll his eyes before writing down a reply. When he slid it back over towards Harry, he watched him take it and read it as well.

_Tonight. Meet me at nine._

Harry frowned. _Where?_ he wrote, and pushed it back over. 

The exchange continued for a while;

_Common room. We’ll walk to the classroom._

_Okay_

_You sure you’re ready, Potter?_

_Might help if I knew what I was helping with_

_Sad._

_You sure you’re ready, Malfoy?_

_I’m sure. I can take anything._

Harry swallowed deeply as he read the last one and crumpled the paper in his hand, shoving it into his pocket. Malfoy could take it. Harry had seen him take it, in his mouth and deep down his throat. 

He really hoped that Malfoy wasn’t a legilimens.

*

Eight o’clock. Harry’s hands were sweating. He had on his pyjamas and his gown, the list of questions still scrunched up in his pocket even after the time had passed. He twiddled his thumbs as he sat with Dean and Seamus, anxious for the minutes to tick the hour away. _Tick, tick, tick._

He hoped that Malfoy didn’t think he was too eager. He was just there early by coincidence, as he was spending time with his friends. Yes, that was it. It wasn’t at all to do with the fact that holy _fuck,_ he’d been waiting for almost a month for this get-together and finally he’d be able to get his answers. 

Harry couldn’t deny that he wanted to get to the meeting between them so that he could find out what Malfoy wanted in return. It would be so interesting to finally discover what he was after. Surely he wouldn’t be stupid enough to ask Harry for help with something to do with the Dark Arts?

He fingered the sheet of paper in his pocket and tried to pay attention to the conversation that he’d originally been involved in before he had run off into his own mind once again. 

“Right. What were we on about?”

“Harry,” Dean said exasperatedly, his voice low, “Do you think that Parkinson is fit?”

Harry scrunched up his face. “Er, no.”

“See!” exclaimed Seamus. “Face like a smacked arse, that girl.”

“Well,” Harry said. “She did also try and hand me into Voldemort. Kind of puts a sour taste in my mouth when I see her.”

Dean sighed. “Okay. That makes sense. But if that hadn’t happened, wouldn’t you say she’s attractive?”

Harry saw Seamus roll his eyes and sit back with a scowl, arms folded across his chest. “Er,” said Harry. “I’ve always thought she looks a bit like a pug.”

The boys laughed at that, Dean too, despite himself. For the rest of the hour, Harry found that he was having fun, forgetting briefly what he had been so nervous about the entire day. Seamus seemed to get slightly uncomfortable whenever Dean brought up a girl into the conversation, but Harry wasn’t quite sure why. 

When Dean excused himself to go and use the toilet, Harry had every intention of asking Seamus if he was alright, asking him what was up. However, he seemed to have run out of time. 

“Potter,” said Malfoy as he entered the common room. “Are we ready?”

“Ready?” asked Seamus, turning to Harry with a confused frown. Harry gulped and his sweaty hand gripped the parchment in his pocket tighter. 

“Don’t worry,” he told Seamus. “I’ll be back in a bit, alright?”

Seamus nodded, though his expression was clearly plastered with concern. “See you. Be careful.”

Harry gave him a smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Heartwarming,” Malfoy commented as they left the common room together. “Clearly Finnigan thinks me thick.”

“Sorry?”

“If he believes that I’m going to attempt to incapacitate you after everybody has seen just the two of us leave alone, he clearly thinks I’m stupid.” 

Harry sighed. “He’s been a bit off lately. He’s just worried.”

“And you don’t know why he’s been feeling off?” Malfoy said curiously.

“No.”

“Have you asked him?”

“Well, no…”

Malfoy sighed. “That might be a start, then.”

“I was about to, then you walked in!”

“Terribly sorry for being on time, Potter. I know you’re not familiar with the subject.”

“Shut up.”

They walked together, about a stubborn foot apart from one another, down to the History of Magic classroom, which Harry knew was a good shout. He knew nobody would stumble in on them here. 

Malfoy opened the door and held it for him, allowing Harry to step in first with a sarcastically chivalrous smile on his face. He shut it softly, though Harry suspected that if they didn’t have to be quiet then he would have probably let it close with a _bang_ as loud as possible, just to annoy him.

Harry watched him make his way to the front of the classroom, jaw clenched, his quick breathing almost visible through the thin layer of his shirt. Harry suddenly felt rather underdressed. He’d come in his pyjamas and dressing gown, and Malfoy was still wearing his day clothes. He shook his head. He knew that Malfoy would probably ridicule it soon enough, but right now he looked so on edge that it might be difficult for him to think of anything else. He pushed himself up to sit on one of the desks as Malfoy threw up a _muffliato,_ though Harry didn’t know who would even be around to overhear. 

“Potter,” he said sternly. “I want to just make one thing clear, okay? I’m going to tell you what I want from you. You either cooperate with me or you don’t. If you don’t want to help me, just say so, and we’ll go back to the common room. I won’t help you either, and neither of us speaks of what the other wants. Ever. To _anyone._ Do you understand?”

Harry blinked blankly. “I understand,” he said, feeling like a scolded student.

“Right,” said Malfoy. “Right. Well… What was it you wanted? Tell me again.”

“Er.” Harry’s fist tightened around the paper in his pocket. “Yes. I want to… I need some information. Information that I think you may be able to help me with?”

“Oh, because you’re curious, wasn’t it?” He chuckled darkly. “Okay. Information for… Well. Yes.”

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

The Slytherin leant against a desk and Harry saw his knuckles go white at gripping onto it so tightly. His fingernails were making dents in the wood. 

“You’re powerful, Potter.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “I’m not really that–”

“Shut up. You are. And I need… I want your help.”

“With _what?_ ” 

“You– Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He slapped his hands to his face, startling Harry, and rubbed his eyes as though exasperated with himself. “You know how to resist the _Imperius_ curse.”

Harry paused. His eyes furrowed, he slowly reached for his wand, just in case. Malfoy was right, he probably wouldn’t try to attack Harry when so many people had seen them leave alone, but he was beginning to get slightly worried. The _Imperius_ curse was dark magic. An Unforgivable. If Malfoy was getting interested in the Dark Arts once again…

“So?” he said wearily.

“So!” Malfoy echoed him. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Harry shook his head slowly. “No, it’s not.”

“You’re really going to make me say it out loud?” he asked, and groaned when Harry just continued to stare at him. “Fine! Salazar, I swear you just aim to humiliate me sometimes. I want you to— I would like… Teach me how to resist the curse,” he said quietly. “Please.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open a tad and he straightened his back, the grip on his wand relaxing ever so slightly. “What?”

“I heard that you’re a rather… exceptional teacher. When it comes to practical things, anyway,” Malfoy added feebly. “And I heard of how you threw off the _Imperius_ curse in Defence class. You were the only one. And then, of course… The Dark Lord himself cast _Imperio_ upon you and you still managed to shake it off. How? How in Merlin’s name did you manage it?”

Harry was still slightly taken aback by the question. “I… It’s not easy. All that I remember is that it felt wrong… I felt like I was floating, and I remember thinking… Why not just do what they’re saying? But then that—”

“Yes, I know that,” Malfoy said impatiently. “I know what it’s like to be under the influence of the curse, Potter. What I am asking is how to avoid that situation in the future!”

“What?” he said quietly. “Who?”

He saw Malfoy’s jaw tense. He ripped his gaze away from Harry’s eyes. “That doesn’t matter. Will you help me or not?”

“Well… Sure. But how do you expect me to teach you?” he asked. Malfoy just turned to him again. Harry blanched. “No.”

“Potter,” he said hurriedly. “ _Please_. I won’t—”

“I’m not casting it on you, Malfoy!”

“It’ll be fine!” he persisted. 

“It won’t be! Malfoy, that’s an Unforgivable Curse. You do know why they’re called Unforgivables?”

“I think that I, of all people, should know that, Potter!”

“I’m not going to get myself locked up in Azkaban for you! What if somebody unexpectedly casts a _priori incantato_ on me?”

“Oh, as if they’d shove our Saviour in Azkaban for doing consensual curses on an ex-Death Eater. Don’t be so ridiculous.”

“They won’t know it was consensual, though.”

“I will _tell them._ I understand that you’re at risk doing this, Potter, but don’t you think that I’m at risk? You think that I’d openly allow you to cast _imperio_ on me if I didn’t trust you?”

Harry frowned slowly, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “You trust me?”

“So will it hurt you to believe me when I say that nobody is going to find out about this? I wouldn’t say anything anyway; do you know how humiliating that would be for me?” he said, hints of desperation in his voice. 

Harry rolled his eyes. Of course, that was what Malfoy had qualms about in this situation. 

“I don’t know…” Harry hummed.

“I’d be fully prepared to have a Secret Keeper for this,” he told him seriously. “Just help me.”

“What?” Harry said in alarm. “We won’t need that!”

“It could even be one of your friends if you don’t trust mine,” he continued. “It would ensure that I couldn’t tattle on you to the Ministry, after all.”

“Christ, Malfoy.” Harry shook his head in disbelief. “It’s fine. It’s fine, alright? I’ll do it.”

He watched Malfoy’s eyes light up with simultaneous disbelief and hope. “Really?”

Harry sighed. “Yes, really.” 

“Potter, I–…” He paused for a second, taking a deep breath. “Thank you. I didn’t know of anybody else who would know how to help me.”

“I don’t know if I will be able to help you. I’ve never taught anyone how to resist it before… It just sort of happens for me.”

“But how?”

“I don’t know, it just does? But… I don’t know if this is a fair exchange, you know? I just have questions for you.” He felt his face heat up slightly. “And they’re embarrassing. And now I have to cast an Unforgivable on you, too?”

“Well, my being cursed won't exactly be pleasant for either of us, will it?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him. “Though, I suppose that depends on what you intend to make me do whilst I’m under the influence.”

For a second, Harry thought he was hearing things. Then he felt as if his eyes had grown wide enough to pop out of his head altogether. “What the fuck? That’s– That is _sick,_ Malfoy, I–”

“I jest! I’m joking!” he explained quickly, holding up his hands. “Perhaps in poor taste. Though, you _have_ admitted that you’re curious.” 

Harry watched a smirk slither onto the git’s face and he felt like hitting him for a moment. “I would never even _think_ about doing that kind of thing while casting that on you!”

But Harry was. Harry was thinking about it, albeit as regret pooled in the centre of his stomach, making him feel slightly ill. He was thinking about Malfoy on his knees again, only this time it was in front of _him_ , not anybody else. Not anybody else. Not some random Ravenclaw Harry had never heard before. 

And this time, Malfoy wasn’t just tied up. He was completely and utterly helpless and at Harry’s mercy, unaware of knowing any better. The guilt that Harry felt outweighed the arousal he felt at the thought of Malfoy happily lapping up his erection the way he’d watched the man do before, as if it were a form of ambrosia for him. He would do whatever Harry would tell him to do.

Harry swallowed thickly as he attempted to regain control over his breathing, which he had to admit had grown incredibly erratic over the unholy and completely _wrong_ and downright _disgusting_ thoughts he’d just been experiencing against his will (maybe better phrasing would be suited).

“Only while you’re casting it on me?” Malfoy said with a hint of attractive knowing in his tone. He continued to speak before Harry could even have a chance to think of a reply to this. “Right. Ask me the first question on your list, then.

He paused. “Sorry?”

“Your list of questions for me, Potter. It’s in your hand. You started waving it about when I first asked you if you could help me.”

Harry looked down at his hand, which did indeed have the list crumpled it up in it very tightly, and he paused. “Oh. Right.”

“And did you really expect nobody to notice you scribbling down on the same piece of parchment for weeks? What did you think people thought it was? Homework?”

He frowned. “Would that be so unbelievable?”

Malfoy laughed quietly, folding his arms. “Yes. So. The list?”

“Right…” Harry flattened out the parchment to the best of his ability. He squinted it at it for a moment, pushed up his glasses and read. “Er… How did you know that you were into guys?”

He looked up at Malfoy, who seemed to be pondering over the question. After a couple of moments, he pushed himself upon a desk and began to kick his legs, pointing to the other. “Have a seat, Potter.”

“Um,” said Harry, waddling forwards awkwardly and sitting down on the desk opposite him. His knees hit Malfoy’s. 

“Um,” Malfoy said mockingly. “How did I know? I’m not… I think that I sort of always knew. I was always looking at men and thinking, ‘Oh, wow, he’s certainly _very_ attractive.’ And I thought nothing of it, because I thought it was normal.”

“But,” said Harry hesitantly. “Was there like, a moment? When you knew?”

He seemed to think this over for a second. “Fourth year. It was about three weeks until the Ball. I had an extensively explicit dream that would be indecent for me to repeat. I woke up and thought, oh, that’s not right. I tried to deny it, of course, but I knew.”

“Oh,” Harry replied. “Who was it about?”

“Is that a question you wrote down?” he asked, but answered Harry’s question nonetheless. “Um. Well, I wasn’t exactly even in it. It was about…” He sighed. “Viktor Krum. And… Cedric Diggory,” he finished quietly, his face flaming red. 

Harry wasn’t sure what to think of that. Thinking of Cedric still made his chest ache as ever, but he couldn’t deny that he saw the appeal when it came to the man. Harry couldn’t blame Malfoy for having such a dream. Then he remembered how the other had reacted when Dumbledore had announced Cedric’s death, and it left him with a bitter taste in his mouth at the fact that Malfoy would even dare speak Cedric’s name.

It was as if he’d read Harry’s thoughts, as he followed up quickly. “You asked me,” he said. “I’m sorry. By the way. I’d just like you to know. I’m sorry for how insensitive I was.”

Harry ground his teeth together for a moment. “I’m glad that you’re apologetic,” he said softly at last. “But…”

This was not a topic that Harry wanted to stay on for very long. Or at all, in fact, and so he cleared his throat to try and divert the subject. 

But then he started thinking about what sorts of things Krum and Cedric could have been partaking in during this dream that had so evidently been a turning point in Malfoy’s life. Perhaps they had just been cuddling, Harry thought. But the words _extensively explicit_ and _indecent to repeat_ echoed in Harry’s mind. He had sudden flashes of sweaty skin, dark on pale, of their faces, close, panting, on top of one another in turn. 

He shook his head clean of those thoughts. It didn’t feel right to think about the dead like that. It felt disrespectful.

“So you knew you were gay after that dream?”

“Well, yes, I suppose. But I really knew for sure after I had my first kisses.”

“First kisses?” Harry asked, puzzled. “Plural?”

“My first with a girl, and then my first with a boy. It sounds juvenile calling them boys and girls but we were hardly men, we were fourteen or fifteen.” Malfoy shrugged. “I kissed Pansy, and I suppose I didn’t despise it, but it didn’t feel right at all. And then when I could finally compare that to kissing somebody of the same gender, well… There was a rather big difference.”

“Who was it?”

“I’m not sure they want it broadcasted.”

“Oh, come on. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Please, you tell Granger and Weasley anything that pops into your head,” Malfoy said with a scoff. 

“You’d be surprised,” Harry replied. “You know you want to.”

The Slytherin rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t leave this room, understand?” he said, and waited until Harry nodded eagerly. “Theo.”

“Theodore Nott?” Harry clarified. “Wow. First Slytherin, then Ravenclaw. Getting around, aren’t you?”

Malfoy actually snorted quietly. “I’ve snogged people from all houses, Potter.”

“What?” Harry asked, eyebrows furrowed. “You’ve not snogged anyone from Gryffindor.”

“Haven’t I?”

“No, you haven’t,” he said firmly. “There’s nobody gay in Gryffindor. Not in our year, anyway.”

“You know very little about your own housemates, Potter. That, or you just refuse to see the truth?”

“What the fuck?” he stressed. “Who?”

“Does it matter? Are you going to pester me about who from Hufflepuff I’ve ruined?” he asked, folding his arms now across his chest.

“Well. No. I don’t care about Hufflepuff,” Harry told him. 

“I already told you who the first boy was. That’s more than enough.”

“Is it?”

Malfoy ignored him. He glanced up and cast a _Tempus_ to the air. “Getting late, Potter. Don’t suppose you brought that cloak along with you?”

“Er,” said Harry. 

“Of course,” said Malfoy. “Well. You have time for one more question before we should head back. Go on.”

“One more?” Harry asked quickly. One? He had dozens of more questions to ask him. 

“We can continue this in another session. Don’t worry, I assure you that it won’t take weeks for the next one to take place. Same time tomorrow?” 

“Yes.” He nodded immediately. “Absolutely fine with me.”

Malfoy smiled dryly. “Brilliant. So. The next question?”

“Oh, right. Um…” Harry looked down at the parchment once again. “If I– hypothetically, now — if I liked guys, would I still be able to like girls?”

“Well, I don’t know your personal preferences,” he said. “Hypothetically, of course. But I do know that many people are attracted to both men and women.”

“Really?” he asked, somewhat elated. 

“Of course. Blaise likes both.”

“Slytherin house is starting to sound really, really gay.” Harry laughed lightly. “You, Nott, Zabini. Who else is there? Don’t tell me Goyle fancied you at one point because I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself from falling off the chair.”

“Very funny,” he said sarcastically, but his smile looked real. “No, Gregory is disgustingly heterosexual. I’ve had to hear him drone on about women for years now.”

“‘Disgustingly heterosexual?’ Wow. Never heard that one before.”

“I’m just joking. I obviously don’t care. I just find that the more interesting people seem to have more interesting sexual needs.” He shrugged, smirking up at Harry. “Do you know how boring it is to hear over and over how much a man wants to have sex with a vagina? And that’s it. Just put it in her vagina. There’s so much more to sex and, admittedly, whilst I really don’t want to think about it, a woman deserves to have a good time in bed too.”

“More interesting sexual needs..?” 

“Don’t you think that there’s just something so much more exhilarating about two men together? Compared to a man and a woman? Typically, when a man and a woman have sex, they slip it in for a few seconds and then it’s over. Perhaps the man will get oral if he’s lucky. But women can fake orgasms, can’t they? It’s never going to be as gratifying and brilliant for her as it is for him. Personally, I like it when my partner is taking pleasure more than anything else,” he said breathily. “Regardless, with two men it’s not common to have full-blown sex every time something sexual happens. It stops being special when it’s done so frequently and unsatisfactorily. Don’t you agree?”

Harry waited. He opened his mouth to answer yet not a smidgen of sound came out. He could feel how hot his face was and hoped it wasn’t too visible. Now that he looked up though, back to Malfoy, he saw that he definitely wasn’t the only one with rosy cheeks. 

“Well,” Malfoy said quietly when Harry didn’t respond. “I think it’s time for us to leave, don’t you? I don’t want to have to run into Peeves again if not necessary.”

Harry watched him stand up from the desk, and soon found himself able to mimic his actions. His limbs felt suddenly incapable. His mind was on various other things.

“Right,” he said, heading for the door. 

“Tomorrow, we can start on helping me,” Malfoy said firmly. “Of course, I can answer more of your questions as well. Or you can just ask me while I’m under the curse, I suppose. You’ll know that I’m telling you the utmost truth, then.”

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly as he pulled the door open, and held it for Malfoy to step through. “That’s assuming you won’t be able to figure out how to throw it off right away.”

“I’m rather sure that it’s going to take more than one try for me to be able to shake off one of the most powerful curses that have ever existed, but thank you for the confidence.”

Harry wasn’t thinking at all about the next day, though. He wasn’t thinking about how he was going to prepare Malfoy, he wasn’t thinking about _Imperio_ or the consequences. All Harry could think about, as they silently drawled the corridors together again back to their dormitories, was that even after all of that nonsense, Harry still didn’t know how the fuck two men had sex with each other.

  
  



	2. A Second Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm finding myself struggling to only upload one chapter a day!!  
> thank you again for reading!

Harry was more than content staying in this shower for the rest of his life. It was bliss, the scalding water rushing down his body. First thing in the morning, this is what Harry considered heaven on earth; the two things that he relied on when he woke up: a lovely hot shower and a lovely hot wank. 

He’d purposefully held off from getting himself off last night when he’d returned from his late-night lesson with Malfoy. Granted, a big part of that was because he’d been so frustrated with himself. Honestly, how thick was he that he didn’t even ask the one thing that he’d been thinking about more than any of the other questions? 

He supposed it would have been a rather intimidating and big first question. He imagined that hearing Malfoy describe - perhaps in detail - how he would start to get intimate with another man. He’d seemed to go off on little tangents, Harry had realised the night before, and decided that he would not be at all angry if he’d decided to rant about how he liked to have sex good and proper. 

His cock liked that thought. He had pressed his right hand up against the wall of the shower, his other wrapped satisfyingly around his erection, slowly stroking himself as he thought about what Malfoy _had_ told him, instead of focusing on what he might. So, Theodore Nott had been Malfoy’s first gay kiss? 

He bit his lip as he tried to picture it, how fumbling and inexperienced they would have both been. Maybe even shy, although Harry was finding it very hard to picture Malfoy as being shy in any nature. He turned it around in his mind _very_ quickly, imagining them at their ages at the present instead of at the age of fifteen - because that was just far too fucking wrong for Harry. Theodore Nott had certainly grown to be a very attractive young man, Harry was ready to admit that, so it wasn’t exactly off-putting to try and picture him and Malfoy together, who was equally, if not more so (definitely more so) captivating.

He imagined the two of them lip-locked; slow to begin with, timid. Perhaps they were sitting on the couches in the Slytherin common room after everybody went to bed? A spur of the moment thing that neither of them had been prepared for; an image of passion and curiosity. For neither of them would have known truly, at the time, where their intentions lie, would they? The pace of their kiss would speed up, heat up quickly, as they both came to realise just how much they liked sharing this experience with the other. 

Harry thought vividly of Nott pushing Malfoy onto his back on the couch, still ravaging his mouth as the latter wrapped his legs intimately around Nott’s waist, pulling him down closer, neither of them really knowing what they were doing, just knowing it felt _good._ Grinding their hips together, their breathing mingled, their hair tousled in the other’s hands. 

Harry’s hand sped up considerably, utilising the water welcomingly to help him with the process. He dug his nails into the wall of the shower stall, his mouth torn between dropping wide open and biting deep into his lower lip. He pressed his thumb down with a particular amount of increased pressure at the head of his cock, grunting quietly, still fantasising about the two men of whom Harry had more than enough reason to dislike, rather than masturbate to. 

He thought of Nott hurriedly pressing wet kisses to Malfoy’s neck, previously untouched and pure. He wanted Nott to leave red marks all down his neck. He wanted Nott to get rid of the blank slate that was there and paint it with vivid warm splotches. He wanted to ravage Malfoy’s skin and make it look far more perfect with the many imperfections that he would leave upon it. He wanted Malfoy to whimper and writhe beneath him as he sucked and bit him, asking for more, _begging_ for more—

“Harry?” he heard Ron call into the showers. “You in here, mate?”

Mate? _Mate_? Really? Harry was about to burst. Ron was practically his nemesis for interrupting him now. 

“Harry?” his ex-best friend called again. “Come on, you’ll miss breakfast!”

Harry screwed his eyes shut tight, trying to ignore the imposing voice, trying to get back into the rhythm that he had brilliantly accumulated. Where was he? 

Right. He was hovering above Malfoy, leaving beautiful marks upon his skin and wanting nothing more than to see more of it. He started to move his hand once again. If he could just finish, he would go out and shut Ron up. 

He imagined himself sitting over Malfoy as he lay down, ripping open his shirt and gliding his tongue from his belly button to his jaw, nibbling on that yet again. He captured Malfoy in another heated kiss, dragging his hands down the front of Malfoy’s torso and feeling every sweet bit of him. He pictured fumbling with the button on the man’s trousers as he would feel desperate hands in his hair, wordlessly begging him for so much more, lifting his hips upwards. 

“Harry?” Ron called. “Listen, Hermione told me to come and get you, so are you in here?”

Harry ignored him yet again, blocking him out completely and refusing to even attempt to stop. He was so close, he could taste it. 

He thought about kissing softly down from his mouth, down his neck. Down his chest. Down to his navel, where he would pause for a second to suck even more marks there, marks nobody else would even be able to see. Nobody else would be allowed to see. 

_“Please_ ,” he imagined hearing Malfoy say, breathless. “ _Please, I need your mouth on me, I need it, please, Potter. Potter! Harry!”_

“Harry!” Ron yelled in surprise as he pushed open the door to Harry’s shower, just at the very moment that Harry pushed himself over the edge, climaxing all over the wall of the shower stall. It took him a moment to realise what had happened. He turned off the shower, catching his breath, before scrambling quickly for his towel. 

“Ron, for fuck’s sake—!”

“Obliviate me,” Ron interrupted him, still standing holding the door wide open but with his head pointed directly upwards, purposefully staring at the ceiling. “Please, Harry. I don’t even care if I lose my entire memory. Just. Please. Obliviate me.”

“Ron, close the door!” Harry shouted at him. “I’m naked!”

“Yeah, I know!” Ron said in a panic. “You’re - You’re wanking!”

“Well, not anymore!” 

“I can't believe I just watched my best mate cum,” Ron said with horror. “Oh my _god.”_

“Close the fucking door before I hex you, Ron!” 

“Well, well,” Harry heard a drawl come from somewhere he couldn’t see, somewhere around Ron’s right hand side. “Care to explain what anyone within a five-mile radius is able to overhear?”

Of course. Harry’s day couldn’t have started any fucking better. What Harry assumed was a blurry version of Draco Malfoy (judging by the familiar drawl of his voice) came walking up next to Ron, taking a look right at Harry. Harry held his towel tighter around his hips, and saw Malfoy smirk at him. 

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Ron snarled at him.

“Must you two have a shouting match so early in the morning?” he asked in return. “Really, I came here for some relaxation. And so, it seems, did Potter.” A smirk stretched across his face as he obviously looked down and nodded to the wall that Harry had just splashed with the remnants of his pleasure. Harry felt himself flush an impossibly brighter shade of red and sidestepped to cover it with his body. 

“Both of you,” he said through gritted teeth, “Get the fuck out. Now!”

Malfoy chuckled as he pulled the door shut, and Harry felt too traumatised to pay attention to the fighting match that was going on outside the stall.

*

Harry slammed his hands onto the eighth year table in front of Hermione, who was looking distinctly red. He glared down at her, his hair still dripping, though fully dressed and trying achingly hard not to think about what had just occurred. 

“What,” he said sharply, “was so important that you had to send Ron to come and get me?”

To Hermione’s right, Ron was sitting staring down at his plate of sausages like he wanted to be sick. He tensed up his body when he heard Harry’s voice, turned his head slowly to look up at him. Harry looked back firmly, and Ron shuddered, pressing a hand over his mouth and gagging a bit. 

“Harry…” Hermione said sheepishly. “I’m really sorry. I just wanted to – I was a bit angry with you, alright?”

“And you couldn’t have waited for me to come down to breakfast like a normal person?”

“Well, I was fully prepared to go into the boys’ shower room myself, but Ron told me that I would be excluded, so you’re lucky I didn’t!” she retorted back at him. “I didn’t know that you were going to be, um…”

“Don’t,” Harry said quickly. “Please. Don’t.”

“Well… The thing is, Harry…” she said slowly. “Everybody sort of knows.”

He felt all his body run cold. “What?”

“Um. Ron and Malfoy both sort of came to the table at the same time, you see. Ron sort of looked like he’d seen a ghost. Well, not a ghost, but you know what I mean. Malfoy was beside himself in laughter. We all thought…” She looked down for a second, almost guiltily. “We all thought Malfoy had done something to him.”

Harry stared blankly at her as Ron groaned and shook his head. “I’d have preferred that!”

“So,” Hermione continued. “We started questioning him. And Malfoy just told us to ask you what happened at the same time that Ron blurted out that he’d walked in on somebody - ah, well…”

“Potter!” Harry heard somebody call to him before he even had a chance to react to what Hermione had told him. He turned around slowly. Blaise Zabini’s face was lit up like a Christmas tree. “I do hope that you scrubbed down that wall!” he called out, tumbling into laughter. 

Harry looked to Zabini’s right, where Pansy Parkinson and her significantly smaller now gang of Slytherin girls were gossiping, all eyeing Harry up and down like he was a piece of meat. To Zabini’s left, Malfoy sat, staring right at Harry, looking as though he was holding back a smirk. 

He turned back to Hermione, gulped, and said, “Do you think the Killing curse would actually work on me now? I think I’d like to try.”

“Harry!” she scolded sharply. “Don’t you dare say that!”

“Sorry,” he said unapologetically as he sat down. “Why does he have to be such a twat?”

Hermione sighed, looking down the table towards Malfoy, and back again. “That’s actually what I was angry about,” she said quietly.

Harry frowned. “What?”

Once she had made sure that Ron was too preoccupied with weighing the odds of how much it would hurt if he gouged his own eyes out, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Seamus told me he saw you and Malfoy go out together last night. You didn’t tell me!”

“Oh,” said Harry. “Yeah. Sorry.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well?” she said. “What happened?”

“Er, I got some answers. Nothing that important though.” He shrugged.

“Okay.” She leaned forward over the table. “What does he want?”

Harry paused for a moment. He wasn't sure on whether or not he was supposed to tell anybody what Malfoy wanted in exchange for his services to Harry. The man’s words from last night echoed menacingly in his head, _‘Please, you tell Granger and Weasley anything that pops into your head.’_

“I’m not too sure I can share,” he told her, determined to prove Malfoy wrong.

She blinked several times, and then her eyes remained wide, her jaw tensed with frustration. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, it’s a little private, that’s all.”

“Is it!” she asked shrilly, her voice getting higher. “Do you want a list of every private thing that we’ve shared with one another over the past seven years, Harry?”

“I’m sorry!” he exclaimed, holding his hands up. “It’s… Listen. It’s okay. I’m not in danger, or anything,” he said, because it was _technically_ true. 

“And if something happens?!”

“It won’t, Hermione. It’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing, okay?”

Did he? He’d cast the spell before, though in dire circumstances. He didn’t want to notch up the spellwork and end up addling Malfoy’s mind so badly that he’d have to spend the rest of his days in Janus Thickey. But he couldn’t exactly _practice_ the _Imperius_ curse on somebody, could he?

“You better hope that you do, Harry,” Hermione said wearily. 

“Potter,” a shrill female voice called from nearby Malfoy. He thought it was Parkinson at first, but… No. That was definitely Bulstrode. “Potter, what were you thinking about?”

“Milly, don’t be so crude,” Malfoy said with a smile that was evident now. He was leaning his head on his hand, so Harry had a good view of his face sitting down. “He was probably just thinking of the Weaslette, eh, Potter?”

“You know they ended, Draco,” Parkinson said curiously, a raised eyebrow. 

“You never fantasise about your previous encounters, Pans?” he asked, and winked at her. She smirked back at him, though Harry saw her cheeks tint slightly red. 

Harry didn’t want to be here anymore. 

“I’m going to go back to the Common room,” he told Ron and Hermione, but she scowled at him and grabbed his hand to stop him from standing up.

“You haven’t had anything to eat.”

“I’m suddenly not hungry.”

“I don’t care. Eat something, now. Ron and I were going to go to Hogsmeade later on, would you like to come with us?”

Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron. “I think he needs some time away from me.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, and elbowed Ron in the side. “Ronald, don’t be rude.”

Ron gulped, looking around as though brought back to reality. “What?”

“Harry thinks you can’t look at him anymore.”

Ron looked up at Harry and they shared a brief moment of awkward eye contact before Ron shook his head feverishly. “You didn’t see what I saw, Hermione.”

“I’m sure if I _had_ seen what you saw, I would be acting slightly more mature about it! For crying out loud, boys, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about! Everybody does it!”

“Not everybody gets caught by their best mate when they do it, though.” 

“Ronald, you’ve seen his penis before, don’t be so ridiculous.”

“What–” came an exclamation from Pansy Parkinson, “–What did I just hear?”

“The Quidditch showers are communal, don’t be daft. And besides, what would you expect after months on the run in isolation from Voldemort?” she added with an edge to her tone, glaring at the woman deeply. “But we should be putting the War behind us, Pansy, _shouldn’t we?_ So why on earth do you still seek to be so rude for no reason? It’s getting seriously old!”

Harry looked down the table to find the Slytherins with eyes as wide as his own. They clearly hadn’t been ready for a reference to the War right to their faces on a bright Saturday morning. Parkinson looked too shocked to think of a reply.

“Pansy, you have been horrible to me for as long as I can remember, and you were more than ready to give up Harry to Voldemort if it meant that you saved your own hide. But you know what? I’m willing to move past that because I personally agree with Professor McGonagall when she says that we should be a symbol for moving on for the younger students! I mean, honestly, isn’t being segregated and judged based on your house outdated by now? I don’t want to judge the Slytherin students as a whole, and I’m sure you don’t want to be judged based on that either! But if you want to be judged as a person, maybe you should start to think about becoming a better person! If Harry and Malfoy can start to get along and spend time with each other, then anybody can!”

Harry looked up quickly at her with warning eyes, and he turned quickly to see Malfoy looking back at him, accusation and betrayal in his eyes. Harry shook his head quickly and turned back to Hermione. Her eyes widened when she caught on. 

“I mean,” she added quickly. “Harry went and sat by Malfoy for an entire Defence lesson willingly. Pansy, you couldn’t even look at me when you sat next to me!”

Malfoy tensed his jaw. “I wouldn’t say that Potter and I are on civil terms,” he said abruptly. “This morning just proved his uncivil nature.”

“Really, Malfoy?” Harry said to him, agitated. “Recounting what you saw, is that it?”

“And if I am, Potter?”

“Maybe I should have some fun recounting what I saw that one night, then,” he threatened, and Malfoy’s face contorted and he looked as if he could punch Harry right then and there. 

“Mate…” Ron said from his side. “You realise how that sounds, right?”

“He knows what I mean.” Harry raised an eyebrow towards Malfoy. “Remember our agreement.”

“I am, Potter. Is that what you were thinking of?”

“Sorry?”

“When pulling yourself off?” Malfoy laughed. Harry shook his head and pushed himself up from his seat. Hermione looked up at him, her face struck with worry. “Where are you going, Potter? Running away?”

“Nope. Just going to go and see if I can find Logan. You seen him around lately?” 

“Fuck you.” Malfoy stood up, mimicking him, and Harry was acutely aware of the attention that they were bringing to the eighth year table. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d love that,” Harry retorted on instinct, not completely realising what he was saying. At once, the Slytherins all furrowed their brows at him, each of their fists clenching on the table threateningly. To his right, he heard an intake of breath from Ron.

“Mate…” he said to Harry, as if Harry had just said something terrible.

“What?” said Harry defensively. “What did I say?”

“Making gay jokes, Potter?” Malfoy said, a smirk slithering up onto the prat’s face. “What’s this? I believe the Saviour of the Wizarding World is a homophobe.”

“ _What?_ ” he said, aghast. “Malfoy, you fucking _know_ that’s not what I meant.”

“Do I? I don’t know. I’m feeling rather victimised right now.”

“Malfoy,” Hermione said sharply. “Stop. You know that—”

“Sorry, Granger, I don’t know anything. You heard him.”

“Malfoy!” she shouted shrilly. “Enough!” 

He glared down at her for a moment before rolling his eyes and waving his hand at the Slytherins like they were his guard dogs that he was calling off. “Alright, it’s not what he meant. Seriously, it’s not,” he clarified to Pansy, who looked ready to shout in his honour. “Truce, Potter?”

Harry took a deep breath, just relieved that Malfoy told the fucking truth. “Fine. Truce,” he said, and sat back down heavily. He didn’t look at the Slytherins again during breakfast, though he could feel the occasional glare off of Pansy and Millicent. 

“Harry…” Ron said wearily as they left the Great Hall. “Erm… Well, you’re not actually homophobic, are you? Just because, well, Charlie is gay, and Bill had a boyfriend once, but he says he was just experimenting, and–”

”Ron.” Harry turned to him. “I am not homophobic.”

“Oh, okay, good,” Ron said, letting out a laugh of relief. “That would’ve made things awkward at Christmas this year.”

Harry couldn’t hear the rest of what Ron was telling him, he was too focused on fantasising about getting to pummel Malfoy’s face in. This day was going fucking awful, and it was only nine in the morning. 

*

Harry didn’t go to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione in the end. He had told them that it was because he wanted to focus on working on the essay set for them by Professor Flourish, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to focus on it. He was so worried about how he was going to be able to ask Malfoy his next question that was written down on the list after their encounter that morning. He was terrified, in fact, at the prospect of asking such an already embarrassing question when Malfoy had now proven that he still wasn’t above embarrassing Harry in front of their fellow classmates. 

For a moment, Harry wondered whether it would be a good idea to ask him whilst under the curse after all, because the man definitely wouldn’t be able to laugh at him then. It would also ensure that Malfoy kept quiet, as if he didn’t, it would put him in a position to spill his own secret. But his conscience got the better of him quickly. He couldn’t do that. He was already worried about what he would try to make Malfoy do for him to resist in the first place. Perhaps he would take the familiar route and have Malfoy tap dance. 

There was a ruckus as the door to the Common room opened. Harry looked up from his place on one of the tables. Malfoy stumbled through with Blaise Zabini, and the two of them wore shit-eating grins that Harry did not trust one bloody bit. Blaise spotted him first. 

“Ah, Potter!” he greeted, placing a hand on Malfoy’s back and directing him so they both approached and sat down at Harry’s table. “Not in Hogsmeade?”

Harry sat back, frowning. “No.”

“Shame, it’s a nice day for it,” Blaise said, and put an arm over Malfoy’s shoulders. “Oh! Sorry, Potter, don’t mind if I do this, do you?”

“Why would I mind?”

“Well, you see, I’m male, and Draco here is male as well.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “He’s attempting to be funny.”

“We both have dicks, you see, Potter,” Blaise continued. Malfoy put his face in his hands. “Do you know what we like to do with them?”

“Zabini, I don’t care that Malfoy’s gay,” Harry said, and determinedly avoided Malfoy’s eye. It wasn’t exactly true, after all. Malfoy being gay was exactly what had made Harry sought him out this year. 

“Oh? Or are you just saying that so that you don’t have to answer?”

“Blaise,” Malfoy said quietly, and then leaned in close to Zabini’s ear. Harry watched them with narrowed eyes. He watched as Blaise’s face became more and more elated. 

“I’m constantly astounded by your mind, Draco,” he said, impressed. “Well, I’ll see you at six, then.” 

Malfoy nodded to him and watched with a smirk as Zabini left the common room, venturing out into the castle again. Once he’d gone, he rolled his eyes once again and sighed. 

“Listen, Potter,” he said. He gave a look around to check if the room was inhabited by anybody else. It wasn’t. It was just the two of them. “I told them to all drop it, you have my word.”

“They don’t seem to be listening to you,” Harry replied bitterly.

“Yes, well, I can't help that. They all heard you.”

“You know well enough that I… That I _can’t_ be homophobic,” he whispered, despite the fact that they were alone. 

“Well, you’re welcome for not telling them that! I can’t say the same for you! How much does Granger know about our agreement?” 

“What?” said Harry, surprised at the sudden turn about.

“Well, she clearly knows,” Malfoy said, frowning and crossing his arms.

“Hermione was the one who convinced me to ask you for, er, advice. Or whatever. She knows you’ve been helping me. She asked me this morning what you wanted in return and I didn’t tell her,” he told him pointedly. “So, that is how much she knows. Happy?”

Opposite Harry, Malfoy seemed to be taking in the information and slowly realising what a cock he’d made of himself. “Ah,” he said simply. “I… see.”

“Good.” Harry scowled. “Don’t go assuming things again. I wouldn’t tell her that. Or Ron.”

He released a shaky sigh. “Thank you,” Malfoy said. “I’m not sure… I’m not sure that I want people knowing what I’m asking for help with.”

“That’s fine,” Harry said. “Listen, Malfoy… Why do you want to learn to resist the curse?”

Malfoy stared at him for a moment. “I’m not quite ready to talk about that, not to you. I apologise.”

“Oh,” Harry said quickly, shaking his head. “Don’t apologise. It’s fine, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s natural to be curious, Potter,” he replied, and the words seemed to settle between them as they gazed at one another, eyes unmoving. “Speaking of… Have fun this morning?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Malfoy still didn’t remove his gaze, and Harry would be damned if he was going to be the first one to give in.

“What were you thinking about?” he asked, voice sultry, the tip of his tongue darting outwards to brush against the edge of his smirk.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but only a chuckle came out. He shook his head, smiling still, almost in disbelief. “Why do you want to know?”

“It might… help me,” he explained slowly. His gaze flickered, ever so subtly, down to Harry’s left hand and back once again. “Might help me, help you. It would be good for me to get some insight into what you’re… looking for. When I’m answering the questions.”

“Right,” Harry said quietly. He licked his lips and felt himself leaning forwards over the table slightly. Malfoy’s lips parted. “What would be an ideal answer for you, then?”

“Ideal?” said Malfoy, matching his hushed tone, despite the fact that they were both still completely alone. “Well… Perhaps, if I knew that you were actually interested in men, it would give me greater confidence when answering the questions. How do I know you’re not just going to ridicule me, after all?”

“I was thinking about men,” Harry said, his voice low now, though not because he was whispering. “If that was what you were asking?”

“Multiple?” he asked, his voice high with interest. 

“Two or three.”

“Well?” he said eagerly. “What was happening?”

“Kissing,” Harry answered promptly. “Lots of kissing… in, uh, quite a lot of places.”

“Oh? Were you fantasising about yourself, or other people?”

“Myself, with… other people. Other people together.”

“Did you take their cocks out?” he asked, and Harry watched closely as he darted out his tongue to wet his lips. “Did you kiss them there, too?”

Harry shook his head a fraction. “No, we were– I thought about them — over clothes. It seemed more —” He gulped. “— Dirty. Rushed.”

“Is that what you like? Having it dirty?”

“I think I would. I haven’t really tried,” he said, his gaze still connecting with Malfoy’s. “Not with a man.”

“I see,” Malfoy said, his face blotchy red. “I’m finding it odd to think that the Saviour of the Wizarding World can cum whilst only thinking of a good neck and grind. Must have been somebody good, you were with.”

For a second, Harry froze, afraid that he’d been too reckless and that Malfoy had somehow discovered that it was he who Harry had been thinking about in such a manner. But when Harry sat back and took a deeper look at his face, a sudden thought struck him that couldn’t possibly have been true. It looked as though Malfoy was perhaps - jealous? No, surely not.

“Well.” Harry shrugged. His throat felt quite dry. “I wouldn’t know if they were good, really. I was the one doing most of the work.”

Malfoy looked as though his hand was going to bleed if his nails dug into it any further. “Thank you, Potter,” he said, moving to sit closer to the table. 

“Did that help?” he asked.

“Well, it’s clear that you _do_ have an attraction to men, and that you’re not shying away from it at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I first had an inkling that I was gay, I would try every time I touched myself to think of women. In the end, it just wilted me completely. I would always end up finishing with the thought of a man anyway, but I hated it. I didn’t want it to be true.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s not question time yet, is it?” he said, though his smile seemed warmer than Harry remembered it to be.

“You could’ve fooled me.” Harry chuckled. “You were asking quite a bit.”

“Research, Potter,” he said simply. 

“I was also,” Harry said, and he himself wasn’t sure where it came from, or why he was saying it, “I kept having an urge. In my fantasy, I was really, really into marking the man I was with.”

Malfoy stared at him for a second with his mouth slightly agape. “Oh.”

“I just liked the thought of making every part of him mine. That’s not weird, is it?”

“No.” Malfoy shook his head, shifting his legs under the table with his hands on his lap. “It’s not weird. It’s rather natural. As natural as it would be for a man to want to be marked all over.”

“That’s… good,” Harry said. He supposed that that wouldn’t be too bad either. Really, it would be fucking brilliant. He imagined a man crawling over him, setting his lips to Harry’s skin on his neck, his chest, his jaw. Sucking and nipping at it until it flushed with a colour so pretty and dark. Harry could picture himself sitting back in this very seat he was in, a man straddling his thighs, Harry’s hand in his hair as he sought to bruise him. 

“Very,” Malfoy replied. They both remained staring, until after one long moment, Malfoy cleared his throat and looked down. “I need to –”

“Yes,” Harry said, nodding. “This essay won’t write itself.”

“Indeed,” Malfoy said hastily, awkwardly shuffling along until he was standing again. He shoved his hands into his front pockets. “See you later, Potter.” 

“Um,” said Harry. “Yep. Bye.” 

Another moment passed before Harry got back to scribbling nonsense and Malfoy hightailed his way up to his dorm room. He had no fucking clue what had just happened. 

*

Ron, at last, looked Harry in the eye again after a couple of hours. He’d strolled into the common room with Hermione once they’d gotten back from Hogsmeade, around half past eight, pockets filled and blood sugar high. Hermione, of course, had to push him forwards a bit just so that they could all sit down together. 

“Listen, mate,” said Ron slowly after taking one deep breath. “I’ve seen you naked before. I’ve seen you with morning wood before. And now I’ve seen this.”

Harry looked at him blankly. Hermione dropped her face into her hands. 

Ron continued, “I think it’s just a step closer in our friendship. Not many friendships could survive that, after all. And I’d like to think that you wouldn’t stop being my friend either, if you caught me, you know, choking the chicken.”

“Right,” said Harry.

“So,” Ron said, happier now, as if expecting Harry to be proud of him for overcoming this. “Truce?”

He held out his hand. Harry stared down at it. 

“You do know that _you_ were the one who walked in on _me_?” Harry said, because it sounded like Ron thought he was doing Harry a favour by staying as his friend after he caught him. 

Ron faltered a little. “Yeah… Sorry, mate.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, smiling, but didn’t shake his hand. “Don’t remember whether I’ve washed it since this morning,” he teased, and watched gleefully as Ron blanched, and Hermione laughed with him.

Her smile was bright as she looked between them. “How touching.” 

“Ergh, Hermione, don’t.” Ron groaned. “Pick a better phrasing next time.”

Harry spent the time with them asking how their day at Hogsmeade had gone. They’d emptied their pockets onto the table between them and Harry went hastily for a chocolate frog, listening to a story from Hermione about how Millicent Bulstrode had actually said hello to her, and told her that she liked the top that she was wearing. Harry was actually mildly impressed by the movement forward, even if it was only one of the Slytherins to attempt to move on. 

He looked down at the card that came with the chocolate frog and sighed as he saw himself staring back, like a mirror that Harry felt sure was glamorising him; he didn’t really look like that normally. He was more than displeased to see this, had disliked the fact that he even had one made of him in the first place. 

_Harry Potter_

_Voldemort’s unsuccessful attempt to kill an infant Potter led to Voldemort's first downfall. This downfall marked the end of the First Wizarding War, and to Potter henceforth being known as the "Boy Who Lived"._

_In the Second Wizarding War, Potter encountered Voldemort and sacrificed himself so that he would be able to defeat Voldemort once and for all. He, yet again, did not die, but rose again and killed the Dark Lord once and for all._

_The only known human to ever survive the Killing Curse._

_Known as: The Saviour, The Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived, The Boy Who Lived Twice._

Harry sighed. Not even a name for his friends, without whom he wouldn’t have been able to do a thing. Not a mention for his parents, who were the only reason he survived as a baby in the first place. No Dumbledore, no Hagrid, no Sirius. 

Just him and Voldemort. That wasn’t how it had been. 

“Harry?” Hermione said softly. Harry threw the card down onto the table. “Are you alright?”

He took a bite out of the head of the chocolate frog and nodded. 

“Get yourself again?” Ron asked. “Rotten luck.”

Harry heard an abundance of laughter come from the entrance to the common room and looked up. Blaise Zabini looked as though somebody had given him the moon as a birthday present. Malfoy was behind him, covering his mouth as he laughed, and Pansy Parkinson was practically in stitches. 

“Ugh,” said Ron as he looked back at them. “Probably just laughing at a first-year getting hexed, or something.”

“Don’t, Ron,” Hermione said, not turning around to even attempt to look at the three. 

“Oh, oh, Circe, that was perfect! Did you see Longbottom’s face?” Blaise said as he continued to laugh, leading the other two to some spare chairs in the middle of the room.

“Neville?” Harry said to Ron and Hermione quickly, frowning. He looked over to Malfoy and caught his eye almost immediately. “What have you done to Neville?”

Malfoy scoffed at him. “Give it a rest, Potter.”

“Give it a rest?” Harry repeated, feeling anger rise into his voice. “What did you do?”

“Transfigured him into a living replica of the Dark Lord,” Blaise exclaimed excessively. “He got up and looked in the mirror, then died from fright!”

“Very funny,” said Ron.

“No, no, we’re being very serious,” said Malfoy, smirking. “He’s wreaking havoc across the school as we speak these very words.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Malfoy.” 

“Make me, Potter,” he responded breezily, and turned away from him completely. Harry tried very hard to not think about the many ways in which he would like to shut Malfoy up. 

“We really didn’t do anything,” Pansy said in her smooth voice. “Well… Draco and I simply offered him the time of his life, that’s all.”

“No, no. I contributed, remember.” Blaise grinned, holding up his hand. “I offered to watch. Offer my magic from the sidelines.”

“Pansy and I would do the nitty and gritty, though.” Malfoy draped his legs over Blaise’s lap; Pansy draped her legs over Malfoy’s. He turned back to Harry, a meddling smile on his face. “Really. We told him the details.”

Harry felt a surge of something rush through his body. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, he just knew that that statement didn’t settle at all well with him. 

“What did you do that for?” Harry asked curiously. “What did he do to you?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Relax, it was all in good fun. We just wanted to see his face run red. It worked. It really got to him when I told him how Pansy and I would take turns with his—”

“Bloody hell, Malfoy!” Ron exclaimed, seemingly subconsciously covering his ears with his hands. “Neville’s not even – He’s not even gay!”

Blaise snorted. Pansy let out a shriek of laughter. Malfoy, though his eyes remained solely on Harry, responded to Ron, saying, “It is possible to like both men and women, you know.”

Hermione frowned. “But how would you know that about Neville?”

“Potter, remember what I told you about members from every house?”

Harry’s face dropped. “ _Neville?”_

Ron and Hermione looked at him curiously, willing him silently to tell them everything about what he was talking about. Ron was probably wondering, too, about what the hell Harry was doing in a conversation with Malfoy in the bloody first place. Harry, however, was entirely too confused himself to spare them a moment. 

“Is it so unbelievable?” Malfoy asked.

“Yes!” Harry shouted. “Neville wouldn’t– Neville would have _never_ –”

“Whatever do you mean, Potter? Is he above it, is that it?”

“What – No, that’s not what I—”

“I think that’s exactly what you meant,” he said brusquely, swinging his legs off of Blaise and getting abruptly to his feet, almost knocking Pansy off of her chair in the process. “So, come on, Potter. If that’s not what you meant then I’m ever so curious.”

“I just didn’t…” Harry shook his head. Hermione gave him a warning look to tell him not to rise to him. He ignored her. “Don't be such a fucking drama queen, Malfoy.”

“What’s that? Calling me a queen, are you?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow, walking to their table. He ignored Hermione’s disgruntled, impatient sound of disapproval. Slowly, he placed both of his hands onto the table and leant down, closer to Harry. “Going back to the homophobia, are we, Potter?”

Harry could see Ron gulp out of the corner of his eye, and Hermione shake her head at Malfoy. Harry, however, held his gaze, his jaw tight. 

“I think we’ve been over this already, Malfoy,” he said darkly. “You know that that isn’t what I meant.”

“Do I?” Malfoy asked, quieter now. For a moment, nobody spoke, and then the entrance to the common room opened. In came a stumbling, red-faced Neville, who looked as though he didn’t really know where he was going.

“Neville,” Hermione said at once, standing up and walking over to him with a tentative outheld hand. “Are you alright?”

Finally, Malfoy broke Harry’s gaze, turning his head delightedly to look over at the new entry. “Longbottom!” he said gleefully. “Need a hand walking back to your sleeping quarters?” 

Neville slowly shook his head at him, though he gulped deeply, and he made his way back up to his dormitory. Pansy’s eyes lingered on him for perhaps a second too long to be innocent. 

“He really has changed,” she said appreciatively. “Remember how he used to look?”

“Neville’s always been sound.” Ron scowled. “He’s not suddenly more worthy of anything just because he got fit.”

“Admitting he got fit, are you, Weasley?” Malfoy chuckled, and he looked Ron up and down. “Anything you’d like to tell us?” 

Ron looked stricken again, as though he had suddenly forgotten all English. Hermione scoffed at him and waltzed over to place a hand on Ron’s arm. 

“We’re going up to bed,” she said sternly. Ron looked up at her, his expression wiped of all horror. In fact, he seemed to look positively excited. 

“Are we?” He grinned. 

She nodded at him positively, though still looking a bit miffed. He hurried to his feet and put his hands on her waist. “Sorry, mate,” he said to Harry, not sounding very sorry at all. “I’ll see you later!”

Hermione looked as though she was going to say a few parting words to Harry as well, but Ron lifted her from the ground at the waist and carried her up to the boys’ dormitories. Her giggling could be heard all the way up. 

Harry suddenly felt rather outnumbered. He looked back up at Malfoy, determined to not look bothered, but Malfoy was looking down at the table. 

“Hmm,” Malfoy hummed, running his finger over the chocolate frog card that Harry had discarded earlier. “Collecting them, are you, Saviour?”

Harry glared at him. “Shut up, Malfoy.” 

“As I said,” he said, making his voice hushed suddenly, even though Harry knew that Blaise and Pansy were still watching them both. “Make me.”

Harry thought he needed to go to the showers again. Almost immediately. 

“Zabini,” Harry said suddenly, looking over to the two peeping-toms. “Do you have the time?”

“Oh,” said Blaise quickly. He cast a quick _tempus_ with his wand and turned back to Harry. “Five past nine.”

Malfoy tilted his head at Harry. “We’re both late.” 

“Seems to be the case.” Harry nodded. He stood up promptly, grabbing the chocolate frog card and throwing it into the fire. 

Harry was more than ready to leave. With his wand ready in his pocket and the already aggravated nature between the two of them that evening, Harry's thoughts were mostly on finally casting the curse on Malfoy. Though he knew more than anything that it was awful for him to perform the curse in the first place, he couldn’t help the fact that with the anger coursing through him, he was almost _ready_ to cast it upon him. He was entirely pissed with him - he seemed to act completely differently whenever he and Harry were alone together. At least, in comparison to when he was around his friends, anyway. It infuriated Harry to no end, were they going to be civil with each other or were they not?

A small part of him also thought that it might be favourable, maybe even slightly enjoyable to have Malfoy under his complete control - if he didn’t manage to resist it completely on their first try, that was. Having him at his mercy was almost… enticing. He wasn’t sure why the thought of it would allure him so, other than the fact that he would, perhaps in a way, be getting revenge on all of what had happened the previous years. He quickly threw away that thought, though, because under no circumstances was Harry going to start enjoying Dark magic, let alone Unforgivable fucking curses. 

“Well?” Harry said. “You coming?”

He walked to the entrance of the common room and keenly avoided looking over at Malfoy’s companions, who were gazing curiously over between Harry and Malfoy. Harry kept his eyes purely on the blond man who stood staring at him with a locked jaw. 

“Malfoy?” he said slowly, wondering for a moment whether the man’s brain had stopped working. 

“Yes!” Malfoy said exasperatedly. “Fine! Come on, then!” 

He stormed in front of Harry, through the entrance and Harry had to do a small little half-jog in order to catch up with him at all. 

“In a bit of a tiff, are you, Malfoy?” he taunted quietly.

“You really do piss me off, Potter,” Malfoy said through gritted teeth. “In front of my fucking friends? Really?”

“In front of your friends, _what_?” Harry asked, frowning now as he settled into a levelled pace with him. 

“Do you not know the meaning of subtlety? How suspicious do you think they’re going to be now that you’ve gone and told them we need to go somewhere together so late at night?”

He rolled his eyes in return. “Just tell them we’ve got detention or something, Merlin.”

“As if.” 

“You did exactly the same to me in front of Seamus. So dramatic.”

“Going to call me a queen again, are you?”

“Oh, fuck off, you twat,” 

“You’re the homophobe, Potter.”

“Am I? That’s going to make it really confusing when I ask you some of these questions, then.”

Questions. Questions? Fuck. The _list._ He’d completely forgotten about the list. For a moment, he found it hard to believe that he’d been so absent-minded. Then he realised, very quickly, that it was Malfoy’s fault entirely. He’d been too distracted by Malfoy that it was a wonder that he’d actually remembered his own head. 

“Something wrong? I hope you realise that you look as daft and dimwitted as anything, right now.”

He raised his head and realised that he had stopped walking, and that Malfoy was looking back at him with a kind of confused and, perhaps, even worried expression striking his face in the blue light through the nightly windows. 

“I forgot the bloody list.”

Malfoy sighed deeply. “Literally, only you could manage to forget the one thing that we needed. This was perhaps… almost the _entire_ _purpose_ of our nightly outings.”

“I know. It’s not my fault, you– it’s yours!”

“Is it, now?”

“You were distracting me!”

Harry wasn’t sure when they had begun to walk again. Malfoy looked as though he couldn’t wait to entertain this idea. “I was distracting you.”

“Yes, that’s what I said! I mean, come on, calling me homophobic one minute and the next, you’re telling me to _make you shut up_.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I was just insinuating that if you really wanted me to shut up, you would’ve used a quick and easy silencing charm.” 

“Yeah, right,” Harry groaned. 

“Well, we’re not going back,” Malfoy told him, even though Harry hadn’t made to turn around at all. “That would take far too long.”

“I’ll just have to remember some, it’ll be fine,” 

“If your mind proves to be capable enough to stretch that far.”

“Shut up.”

Malfoy simply shook his head with a small laugh.

*

“How do you want to do this?” Harry asked once they were safely shut inside the confines of the classroom.

“Well,” said Malfoy in return, kicking himself up from the ground, settling himself on top of one of the desks. “Do you want your questions answered first? Or shall we get right down to business with cursing me?”

“Er,” Harry said awkwardly. “Questions first, I think.”

“Perfect.” Harry watched him hit his legs in a way that reminded him of when somebody wanted to leave Privet Drive but didn’t want to be rude, loudly announcing ‘ _Right! Better be off!’_

“Uh, give me a second,” he said.

“I wouldn’t need to if you remembered the one thing we needed.”

“Yeah, alright.” He rolled his eyes, pushing himself onto the desk behind Malfoy’s. Malfoy swivelled his legs around to look at him full on. Harry took a moment, considering him, before letting his mind wander a little bit. 

He hadn’t even realised it at the time, but looking at Malfoy now, alone, Harry realised his fantasy in the showers had involved only him and Malfoy, after a while. He hadn’t even meant for it to happen. But… He’d kissed that jaw, in his mind. He’d bit that very patch of skin on Malfoy’s neck that he was staring at right now. And down. Down, down, further. Harry himself had tasted the pale skin that was hidden beneath the shirt that was now creased and stubbornly buttoned-up, instead of spread wide open. Further. Further. 

“Blowjobs,” he announced suddenly. Malfoy actually recoiled a bit in surprise, as though he had been thoroughly lost in thought as well. “What exactly would be… the point, I guess? I don’t get it. Why would a man want to suck another man’s… penis? Because I know that happens and, er, obviously, you… You’ve…”

“Yes, Potter, I have sucked a cock before. We both know that,” said Malfoy bitterly. Harry rubbed his arm nervously. Perhaps he had jumped in right at the deep end. But, no, Malfoy simply leaned back on his hand, and shrugged. “Why would a woman want to give a man a blowjob?”

“... Huh?” Harry said after a moment, realising finally that the question hadn’t been rhetorical.

“What’s the difference? Why does anyone give blowjobs?”

“Because…?”

“Merlin, Potter, you are as thick as custard, really. _Because_ they enjoy giving pleasure to their partner. It’s really not that complicated.” Harry saw that Malfoy was now rubbing his arm, as well, and wondered if he was a little nervous too.

“So it’s not different for guys and girls?”

“No, it’s not. I suppose it doesn’t just have to be about wanting to give pleasure, though,” he added, not looking at Harry. “Some people might just love sucking cock.”

Harry forced himself to swallow and nodded. “Right. But, how do you decide which one gets the blowjob?”

“I do pity the day you get a sexual partner.” Malfoy sighed. “It’s just whoever wants one. You can take it in turns. One after the other. You can do it at the same time if you want,” he explained, and Harry winced, thinking about all of the back pain that must come with that. Malfoy continued, “But, you do know that women can receive blowjobs as well, don’t you?”

Harry frowned. _But women don’t have…_ he thought to himself. _What the hell is there to… blow?_

“Oh, Potter,” Malfoy said in a pitying tone. “Is this why you and the Weasel girl didn’t work out?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I suppose so. Potter, next time you’re with a woman,” he said, then paused and muttered, “if ever… Next time, do yourself and her a favour and put your mouth on her vagina.”

“Er… Why?”

“Because it feels good for them, you idiot.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Well…” Malfoy sighed. “Let’s get back to cock-sucking instead. Now, _this_ is information you could ask Granger.” He chuckled, and Harry retched into his hand.

“ _No_ ,” he said staunchly. “God. That would be just… _wrong._ ”

“But you can ask me?”

“Hermione is like my sister. I don’t want to hear that she’s done that sort of thing. You’re… Well. I’ve seen you do it, anyway, haven’t I?”

_And you’re good at it,_ his mind supplied him. _You looked fantastic at it._

“I see,” Malfoy said curiously.

Harry wondered then, what was it that happened with Logan, having relentlessly and stupidly reminded himself of the sight of Malfoy on his knees. He was still ever so curious about the dynamic between the two of them that it made his mind race even more. He thought aimlessly about whether they actually had had full-on sex, ever. That would surely seal their relationship? That was a sign of trust, and love, was it not? 

“Malfoy,” he said inquiringly without thinking. He was going to ask. He had to ask, because he had tortured himself the last time he hadn’t. “How exactly do two men have sex? Full-on sex. I think I might know a bit, but… but—”

“Exactly,” interrupted Malfoy.

“Sorry?”

“But. Butt. We use our arses.”

“Oh,” Harry croaked, his mouth suddenly a bit dry again. “How– Why?”

“How? Much preparation, that’s how. No messing about, or it can be painful. Why?” He shrugged, meeting Harry’s eyes. “It can feel blissful.”

He took a slow, deep breath. “It does? Have you–”

“I’ve never been fucked, if that’s what you were going to ask,” Malfoy said quickly, almost defensively. 

“Oh,” said Harry quickly. “Sorry. I didn’t want to, uh, offend you. Or anything.”

“You didn’t,” said Malfoy, though he was still looking a slight bit affronted. “I just know.”

“How?”

“Fucking hell, Potter. Word of mouth? Experience? Material?”

Harry took a moment. He had many questions about each of those answers. His face, though, seemed to exhibit his confusion. Malfoy huffed and rolled his eyes.

“By material, I mean, you know, pornography. WizardAndWizard magazines. They’re rather brilliant,” he commented offhandedly. Slowly, he looked down at his fingers twiddling, before looking back up at Harry. “You can borrow one if you like.”

The idea shot through Harry like electricity. He felt his skin tingle at the prospect all the way down to the tips of his toes. Being able to thoroughly get off to a man without having to use his imagination? That was impossible. That was magnificent.

“Are you sure?” asked Harry, internally pleading, _Say yes, say yes, say yes._

“Yes, of course. I have… Enough.” He shrugged lightly. “And when I say word of mouth. Well, you know I’ve said that there are many other gays in the school. They’ve propositioned me about it, of course.”

“Of course?” Harry’s voice croaked. 

“Well, not every single one, obviously. But, for example… Well, Logan, as you’re aware of me and him. He’s always asking, one way or the other. It’s supposed to be thoroughly brilliant, though, from what I’ve heard. Well, and…” 

Harry looked at him and wished for a second or two that there was a brighter light in the room for him to see Malfoy’s face. He was sure, in the darkened room that it was, that Malfoy’s face was beginning to flare a bright red colour, and that his eyes were starting to get unmistakably glazed over. It was as if he was remembering something that was almost heavenly, with the look that was over his face. 

“And what, Malfoy?” Harry asked thickly. 

“Nothing,” he quipped rather quickly. 

“Right,” Harry said with a smirk, rather sure that he’d had an inkling about what he’d been fantasising about. 

Harry tried feebly not to go off into a whole other world of fantasies himself. The information he’d just uncovered - and no doubt he was proud of himself for doing so - was all swirling around in his head like a lake a second away from overflowing. He’d had it confirmed how men had sex with each other, and, frankly, hadn’t hated the answer. On the contrary, it was rather enticing and new. And if that was the face that Malfoy pulled when just merely reminiscing about doing it… Perhaps to himself?

A million pictures flooded Harry’s brain of Malfoy on a bed, against a wall, in the shower, of Malfoy grasping his cock with one hand, and the other reaching backwards. In his mind, he thought unabashedly of Malfoy’s fingers stretching into himself. It felt good, is what Harry gathered, and he could just picture the ecstasy that would flutter across Malfoy’s face when he did it to himself, knuckles deep, perhaps begging for even more than that. 

And, almost immediately, Harry remembered the man with the dirty mouth who had walked by him and Ron, stressing about how much he wanted to fuck his bird in the arse, and Harry simply couldn’t help himself anymore. Harry could see himself walking over to Malfoy at that moment, and making him completely undone. He was thinking purely with his cock, and Merlin, his cock wanted badly to try out some of this new information. He could see himself pushing Malfoy backwards, so that he was lying on his back, and pulling him by his hips so that his body met Harry’s crotch, eager and willing. 

He could, in fact, picture himself taking Malfoy over and against every single surface available in this room, and he was beginning to get worried that if he didn’t stop picturing that scenario, he might actually attempt to play it out. 

“Um,” Harry said. Malfoy hadn’t said anything either, and Harry tried hard not to think about the implications of that. “Right. Do you want to… Should I _imperio_ you now?”

“Right,” Malfoy said, and he sat up straight.

“Well,” Harry said, taking out his wand. “The main thing you’re going to want to try and do is remember where you are, what you’re doing. It’s near impossible to do, I didn’t master it until like, the fifth go–”

“Fourth,” Malfoy interrupted him. “You managed it on your fourth try.”

“Oh. Okay. But anyway, try and remember where you are. Remember, or realise that the good thing you’re feeling isn’t natural, and it isn’t good. It’s so easy to give in to the feeling and give up, but you need to fight it.”

“Okay. Just… Let’s just do it, yes?”

He seemed impossibly apprehensive yet eager at the same time. Harry wanted to ask if he was sure, but he knew that he’d just get planted with that oh-so-familiar glare. 

With a deep breath, Harry drew his wand back and shouted, “ _Imperio!”_

He knew it had worked at once. The intensity of the power surging through his body almost made him feel rather dizzy. He could sense the control that he was holding over the other man; could feel his magic gripping onto a consciousness. Malfoy didn’t seem much like himself, his eyes looked glazed and his body had slumped slightly. Harry gulped at the sight. It truly wasn’t pleasant; it was as if the body of Malfoy had become just a shell, not lifeless but near it. 

“Malfoy,” he said slowly. “Stand up.” 

Malfoy stood up. 

“Give me a twirl.”

Malfoy spun around in a circle on one foot. Harry snorted, wishing he had a camera. 

He hadn’t really expected Malfoy to actually throw off the curse this early on, especially not on his first trial. 

“Can you sing me a nice song, Malfoy?”

A song that Harry had heard his fill of reached his ears, Celestina Warbeck’s _You Charmed The Heart Right Out Of Me_ , in the voice of Draco Malfoy. Harry thought that it was actually quite rude that he couldn’t film this to take back and show Ron. 

_“Your every wish is my command_ _  
_ _My fragile heart is in your hand_ _  
_ _And now, at last, I understand_ _  
_ _The magic about you!”_ Malfoy belted out, and Harry was finding it very hard to not tumble into laughter. 

“Alright, alright, stop.” Harry grinned, and Malfoy stopped singing promptly. “Do you like singing?”

“No,” Malfoy replied, and for a second Harry was ready to reply _good, not your thing,_ when he realised the realm of possibilities that had just opened in front of him. Harry could ask Malfoy anything he wanted right now, and if he told him to tell the truth, there would be nothing hidden from him. Harry had free reign. 

“Are you gay?” Harry asked, just testing the waters. 

“Incredibly so,” Malfoy replied. The waters were still, for now.

“Have you ever had sex?”

“No.”

“Who have you had sexual… contact with?” Harry asked, his cheeks heating as he did so. He could not think about morals right now.

“Logan Thomas, Blaise Zabini, Matvei Sokolov, Theodore Nott, Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter, F—”

“What?” Harry blanched. “Me?”

“Sexual contact,” Malfoy said. “You were rubbing against me in the corridor.”

“When Peeves… Fuck, right. You consider that sexual contact?”

Harry saw Malfoy’s eye twitch. “Yes. We were both aroused and rubbing our arousal against one another.”

“Right…” Harry said, trying not to think about that. He was already feeling worked up. “You’ve been around, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Who is Mat.. Mathei?”

“Matvei Sokolov attended Hogwarts for a brief time in our fourth year to place his name forwards to compete in the Triwizard Tournament,” Malfoy explained. “He attended Durmstrang.”

Harry gulped. Fourth-year? Malfoy was doing sexual stuff as early as fourteen, maybe fifteen, whereas Harry hadn’t even seen a pair of boobs until a couple of months ago? 

“What did you do with him?” 

“He said he knew of my father. He said he would put in a good word for my family with Krum, so we got close, and we ended up necking on.” He licked his lips. “I don’t know whether he actually did, but it was certainly pleasant either way.”

“Oh,” Harry murmured. So, making out counted as sexual contact. Noted. “What about Blaise?”

“Drunken,” he explained dreamily. “Too much Firewhisky. I told him I found him inexplicably attractive and he kissed me, and we both wanked each other to climax.”

“Neville?” he croaked.

“Longbottom had walked in on me touching myself in the shower. I caught him watching, and he continued to watch until I finished,” he said. “It was quick. It meant nothing.” 

Harry wasn’t quite sure why Malfoy thought that was necessary for him to add on, but for some reason, he appreciated it. 

And suddenly, as though a tonne of bricks had fallen upon him, guilt hit Harry harder than a bludger. Was this not, technically, taking advantage of the situation? Harry was sure, beyond all things, that Malfoy would not have divulged that information should he have been in his right mind. This was the one thing that Harry had sworn he would not do when they did these sessions. 

Well, maybe not the one thing.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, and quickly let the curse become undone, wanting Malfoy to become his normal self once again. 

Malfoy looked hazy. He gripped the table nearest to him tightly and he looked almost as though he was going to faint. “Well,” he said quietly. “Good thing you undid the curse then, Potter, or I might have thought _fuck_ was an order.”

Harry frowned, and cried, “Shit, I’m sorry, Malfoy.”

Malfoy squinted at him. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have started asking you stuff. I should have stuck to stupid things like spinning, or singing. I’m sorry.”

“Believe me, Potter, I would turn forever evil if I had to endure singing so awful as well.” He saw Harry’s face and sighed. “I don’t care that you started asking me things like that. I told you that you could ask me things under the curse if you wanted to, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but–”

“Besides,” Malfoy added. “It was sort of sexy. You should do it again.”

*

“Potter.”

“No.”

“It’s fine.”

“No!”

“I’m telling you it’s okay!”

“It’s wrong!” Harry protested, sitting atop the same table he had done a week previously; the table off of which he had jumped up from to profess his guilt. 

“Potter, if you ask me the questions while I’m under the curse then I don’t have to think about answering them, do I? It’ll be easier for both of us,” Malfoy countered him smoothly, and Harry couldn’t help but silently admire the trust that he was placing in him. 

Harry narrowed his eyes at him, pressing his lips together tightly, debating the pros and cons of what Malfoy was propositioning him. It just didn’t feel _right_.

“You have to give me limits,” Harry said. “What am I not allowed to ask about?”

“Potter,” he started exasperatedly.

“No,” Harry said stubbornly. “Tell me.”

Malfoy sighed. “Well, as long as you stick to that damn list, it should be okay.” He gestured to the parchment in Harry’s tight grip with a flick of his hand. “But I don’t want to talk about the War. Nothing from when the Dark Lord was living in the Manor. Nothing to do with my family.”

Harry nodded. That was understandable. Not only would the subjects be sore but awkward, tense, bring up things that they probably _should_ talk about, but won’t. Harry didn’t think they’d talk about those things for a while, if ever. “Is there anything you don’t want to do?”

He watched Malfoy’s reaction to the question closely; the way his eyes widened for a split second, his mouth hovering with his lips slightly apart, his fist clenching for a moment as if itching to reach a part of his body to either protect or attack. 

“I don’t care what you have me do,” he said. “As long as my clothes remain on.” 

Despite himself thinking he knew the various reasons of which Malfoy would request this, Harry felt heat creep up the back of his neck and tingle the tips of his ears. Harry wouldn’t have requested that of Malfoy, that really _would_ be going too far; it was just the mere fact that he _could_ tell him to do it, and nothing would be able to hold him back from seeing the diaphanous template of Malfoy’s body. He had touched the body before in ways that he could not repent more, the urge to correct his mistake and caress it now in apology had his fingers twitching. 

“Okay,” Harry said certainly. “Are you ready? Remember, don’t succumb to the floaty feeling.”

“Yes,” Malfoy said. Harry raised his wand.

“ _Imperio!”_

The same thing that happened the week before happened again. Malfoy seemed to almost lose his sense of self. Harry waited for a moment, waited to see whether or not Malfoy would be able to throw off the curse. 

“Malfoy,” he tested. “Touch your nose.” With hardly a second gone, he watched him touch his nose and Harry frowned. “Damnit. Er, jump up and down.”

Harry sat back as he watched him jump up and down on the spot and had to take a moment to appreciate the fact that Malfoy didn’t have breasts, because that would certainly have changed the mood of this task very, very quickly. But, Harry thought, Malfoy _really_ didn’t have breasts. Did he care about that? 

Harry loved boobs as much as the next guy; the soft, supple feeling of the weight in his palm encouraged him and made him want to suck them, put his face in them, squeeze them silly. He liked thinking about boobs, it made his head dizzy and his cock stir, so he didn’t have to worry much about not being attracted to women. He was fairly confident in that area. 

But, again, Malfoy didn’t have boobs. Men didn’t have boobs, necessarily. Malfoy’s chest was flat, hard, and his body was sharp, angular as his pretty face. Harry could see the appeal of ripping the clothes off of Malfoy to see and admire his handsome physique, just as he had to admire women before him. The image of dragging his teeth down the chest and abdomen of the man in front of him was more tempting than he had been subjected to before. 

But then, of course, Malfoy’s arse wasn’t much like the rest of him. It wasn’t _big_ , per se, but it definitely wasn’t invisible, either. In fact, Harry rather thought that he filled out his trousers quite well. It certainly wasn’t a terrible view when he was walking behind him, anyway. That was one of the benefits of an eighth-year common room, Harry thought, that nobody wears their view-obstructing robes when they’re relaxing there. He’d always hated those robes. 

He had to admit that in the days since Malfoy had told him that gay men take it up the arse, Harry couldn’t seem to erase the idea from his mind. There was a nagging inkling in his brain at all times, picturing Malfoy’s face as he spoke about how _brilliant_ it felt, and Harry couldn’t forget it that easily. He was finding himself, in every spare moment, beginning to fantasise about not only Malfoy with his fingers plunged deep into himself, but Harry’s fingers deep inside Malfoy as well. He couldn’t resist the thought of fucking him with his fingers as he watched his expressions closely, couldn’t resist wondering about the different sounds that he’d made if Harry started to tease him by going slower and slower until he was begging for _faster, please, faster!_

Harry found the thought of fucking Malfoy (actually, properly fucking him) completely overwhelming. He would so love to bury his hand into the mass of blond hair and grip it tightly as he buried his cock inside of his behind, the thought of it so consuming and intense that he hardly had time to delve right into the daydream before he was spilling over his hand, imagining instead the warm and tight temptation that was now always the feature of his daily masturbation. 

That was now standing right before Harry, still jumping up and down on the spot. Harry shook his head free of those thoughts and sat upright, shifting his trousers to make them feel a bit more comfortable. 

“Stop,” Harry told Malfoy, and wasn’t surprised to see him cease movement immediately. It was rather scary to see him act and look so robotic, so mindless. It didn’t seem to be like Malfoy at all. “Could you– Act more natural? Like yourself?” Harry said, though it didn’t really sound like an order to him.

Nevertheless, Malfoy seemed to relax immediately, his face morphed into the resting sneer he always seemed to wear upon his face, and he pushed himself to sit upon the desk opposite Harry. “Potter,” he said, almost in greeting. 

“Malfoy,” Harry replied, a tad confused but going with it. “Are you ready for the questions now?”

“Yes,” he said, and checked his nails.

Harry huffed out a laugh and quickly consulted his list. 

“What,” Harry asked, pausing for a second, as this was an answer that he was sure he’d be excited about. “What does giving a blowjob feel like?”

“Well, that’s relative. Physically, it can be quite uncomfortable, but the more you do it, the more natural it becomes. The more you enjoy it, the more you like the feeling.”

“And you like the feeling?”

“Yes. I love it. I like it because I know that the other person is enjoying it, and I know I’m impressing them because I’m good at it. For a lot of people, I suppose the idea of something lodged down your throat is off-putting, but to me, it’s appealing. I enjoy the thought of things in my mouth. I love having things in my mouth.”

“Oh,” Harry said hoarsely. “How do you - How do you do it?”

Malfoy took a deep breath. “The important thing is to have confidence. If you don’t think you’re going to be good, you won’t be. You’ll hesitate, which usually leads to a lot of teeth, and grazing–” Harry winced at that, “– You want it to be smooth and wet. Cherish it. Try and take it in all the way, because the heat feels amazing, but if you can’t then don’t leave a bit untouched. Use your hands on what you can’t reach. Take breaks, tease them, begin to lick instead of just sucking, make them want it again, badly. Don’t forget their balls, either, because that feels just as good. Know, when they’re going to cum, whether you’re confident enough to take it or not. If you want them to cum in your mouth, then make a quick decision on whether you want to spit it out or swallow it. Spitting is unattractive, to me, so I always tend to go with the latter. But otherwise, I like it on my face, I’ve found.”

Harry felt as though he was going to short circuit. This, right here, was what Harry thought Heaven must be. The train ride from the pristinely white Kings Cross Station in the sky surely leads to the destination of your cock right into Draco Malfoy’s mouth. 

Malfoy was peering at him through his eyelashes, legs apart and fingers digging into the wood of the desk. His cheeks were flushed a dark red. Harry could picture what the other man was describing; allowing himself to imagine himself spilling out onto his face, as if in a shower. He could picture it occurring right in this very room, if he so wished; Harry not moving a muscle, Malfoy smoothly and swiftly settling himself down in between his legs. For a second, he’s tempted. Too tempted.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered breathily. “Come here.” 

Malfoy responded at once. He was on his feet before Harry could blink and standing in between Harry’s thighs, something in his eyes was ablaze and Harry wanted nothing more than to order down onto his knees and to show him what he had been missing. But he couldn’t. He knew that he couldn’t. 

With regret, Harry picked his wand back up and broke the curse. Malfoy swayed again, so much so that he knocked into Harry’s leg and Harry had to put an arm out to hold him steady. When he was sturdy again, he looked back into Harry’s gaze. He wasn’t moving from between his legs. 

“You only asked one question,” Malfoy said quietly. 

“Two,” Harry corrected him. “But only one from my list.”

“We’re never going to get through it at this point.”

“I don’t think I want to get through it,” he said. “I don’t think I want this to stop.”

They were so close together that he could hear it when Malfoy gulped uncertainly. He could see the hesitation in Malfoy’s eyes that were inexplicably grey, he realised, such a pretty colour that, when you were close enough, you would realise had some specks of blue in them as well. They reminded Harry of a sunny day covered by some grey clouds, the sky fighting to break through. His lips, Harry noticed, were pale pink of a similar shape to Ginny’s, but Harry couldn’t help but look at them differently. He couldn’t help but look at all, in truth. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. 

These lips that had captured so many others, that had been placed upon the things with no innocent intention at all. Those things, all of them, were not Harry’s, and suddenly the monster inside him that had long been quiet since he and Ginny, was growling again, because Harry knew he didn’t like the idea of Malfoy with anybody else. No matter how hot it was to watch, or to fantasise about, he wanted Malfoy himself. He wanted those lips upon his, and upon his everywhere. 

And then Malfoy kissed him, and the world stopped. 

Harry could feel Malfoy’s hands on his tilted neck, his fingers stretching up to bury deep into his hair as he sat, paralysed, his heart beating ten times too fast in his chest and his eyes still wide open - _why were they open? -_ staring into the scrunched up eyes of the man who he had thought about so much over the past–

He pulled away before Harry could register anything, and Harry had a sudden realisation struck upon him that he looked _nervous._ He was scared, Harry realised, he was scared, but was that because he had regretted what he had done? 

Harry stood up from his position on the desk and Malfoy backed away, seemingly afraid of what would happen if he didn’t. He took a step forward, and Malfoy stepped backwards, his thighs hitting the desk behind him. For a second, Harry felt like he was cornering some prey. Malfoy’s fingernails dig into the wood beneath his hands, arms stretched backwards. He looked frightened, and Harry was reminded of the poor sixteen-year-old boy that had taken the same position, his hands clasped instead onto a sink, back then. The boy who thought he would lose everything. Harry supposed, in a way, he had. 

“Potter,” Malfoy said quietly. “I’m sorry, I thought–”

Harry didn’t reply, didn’t interrupt him, but Malfoy ceased to speak as he watched him take another step forward. They were close again, Harry was invading Malfoy’s personal space, and he wondered what made the man so worried. Surely he realised that, at that moment in time, he couldn’t have wished for anything more suiting?

Harry took a deep breath before taking a final step, and he placed his hands gently onto Malfoy’s hips, which were so unlike hips that he’d been able to touch before this. Malfoy’s hips weren’t as wide, as curved as Cho’s were, or Ginny’s, and Harry found himself slightly admiring it. 

He nudged his nose next to Malfoy’s, quietly thanking that Malfoy was looking down, as otherwise, Harry might’ve had to go on his tiptoes. He could feel the hot breath against his mouth and suddenly was overcome, he had to lean in, he had to get those lips back on his, or else he knew that he would regret it. 

Harry kissed him softly, his hands tightening automatically on Malfoy’s body, and their eyes both fluttered shut. It wasn’t until Harry felt Malfoy start to move with the kiss that he felt, in the pit of his stomach, a deep desire start to grow like fire. Harry felt Malfoy’s palms sliding up his neck again as their lips moulded, and he felt gone. Gone. 

He could feel Malfoy’s tongue with his, now, and he knew that this would be the very end of him. He had already been hard from Malfoy’s less than delicate description about how much he loves cock down his throat. Harry wanted him to prove it. If it was possible to make a list of all the things that Harry wanted right at that moment, then he would gladly exchange the list he had abandoned on the floor, for that, any day.

He pulled Malfoy away from the table, though he didn’t think that he needed to use his hands, as Malfoy seemed to follow wherever his mouth was destined with his own. With a turn, he separated his lips from Malfoy’s (not without difficulty) and pressed him hastily against the nearest wall. The reception to the action was not at _all_ disappointing. 

“ _Yes,_ ” Malfoy panted, reaching out his hands to pull Harry back, closer to him again, and how could Harry refuse? He pressed his body tightly against him, and Harry felt distinctly dizzy as Malfoy rolled his hips upwards. 

“Malfoy,” Harry said breathily, their mouths less than inches away again. He didn’t have to reconnect their mouths again, Malfoy did that eagerly enough, and his fingers curled into Harry’s hair. At that moment, Harry became briefly aware again of the fact that he also had hands that he was able to use. 

His right hand trailed his body eagerly, down over his legs, as far as he could reach, before lifting it back up again. A shot of anxiety and courage ran through him at the next idea he had, and he pulled out of their kiss to bite Malfoy’s lip as, determined to go on, he slid his palm onto the very arse that he’d been dreaming about for days and days. 

Malfoy groaned and before Harry could realise it, he had lifted his leg, the one that he had just had his hand all over, and he wrapped it around Harry’s hips, pulling him in. Their fabric-covered crotches met quickly, this time with intent, and they both made rather pleased whimpers of pleasure. Harry groped Malfoy’s arse cheek tightly in his hand and dragged him in again, rubbing their cocks together. The friction was little, yet a lot at the same time - this being Harry’s first experience having another man’s cock right alongside his own, it was almost overwhelming for him. He felt extra sensitive. 

Harry was reminded briefly of a time at the Burrow before he and Ginny had broken up for good, after Voldemort had been defeated. She had led him to her bed and told him they needed to be quick. She had straddled him, though not taken off any of her clothes, and told Harry to stop at his as well. They had frotted against one another for the entire time and Harry had found it _wonderful,_ though not at all as wonderful as this was feeling now - blissful beyond compare. 

Harry’s spare hand made its way from Malfoy’s hip to his face, cupping it gently, his thumb resting gently upon the man’s bottom lip. Malfoy didn’t break eye contact, though his mouth did drop open even further as his rapid and inconsistent breathing could be felt on the pad of Harry’s thumb. Neither of them ceased the movement of their hips, grinding their cocks against one another as Harry took the time it wasn’t being occupied to bite his own lip now, as the pleasure of the situation became far more intense. Malfoy was now whining and whimpering with every pant and thrust that came tumbling out of his mouth, and, as Harry saw what he did next, he became unable to stop himself moaning aloud as well. 

He couldn’t have looked anywhere else in the room even if Hagrid came bursting in on a unicorn declaring that Voldemort was back and this time only wanted rainbows and chocolate instead of the bodies of the innocent. Malfoy’s tongue - _god, that fucking tongue -_ came slithering of his mouth and licked a smooth line up Harry’s thumb. When he saw that Harry was not objecting to the actions (obviously, Harry wasn’t stupid), he leaned forwards a little and wrapped his lips delicately around the tip of his thumb. Harry stared at the sight, almost forgetting to keep bucking his hips, and actually let out a long moan when Malfoy started to softly suck on it. 

“Oh, fuck, Malfoy,” Harry grunted. His glasses were almost slipping down his nose from the sweat that was gathering on his face. He pushed his thumb further into Malfoy’s mouth and the man took it obligingly, sucking on it lightly and twirling his tongue around it like it was a sweet, sugar lollipop. 

Harry had an urge, then, and acted upon it almost immediately. He pushed Malfoy’s head backwards so that the man allowed it to drop back against the wall, exposing his neck bare, and Harry felt him breathe in a sharp intake of breath around his thumb as he succumbed to Harry’s lips now pressing themselves to Malfoy’s throat. 

He dragged his front teeth down the white skin in front of him, leaving behind long pink lines that Harry couldn’t help but admire. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the side of his neck, and again, and again, over and over, until he reached an appealing spot just beneath his jaw and kept his focus there. Malfoy was still sucking Harry’s thumb, Harry was still pulling Malfoy’s hips into his over and over, in a rut like a dog, and Harry found himself drunk on the arousal, and matched his mouth with Malfoy’s, sucking deeply onto his pretty pale skin. 

Malfoy didn’t seem to have any complaints about the matter and Harry was more than happy; he didn’t even take the time to look at his handiwork before he was moving onto another patch of skin and working on sucking another deep red mark on his throat, just above his adam’s apple. 

“Potter,” Malfoy breathed, sliding the thumb from his mouth. “Potter, harder…”

Harry looked up immediately, and kissed him again, deeply, as he knew the urgency in Malfoy’s voice. Gripping his arse with both hands now, Harry lifted Malfoy fully off of the ground and forced him tighter against the wall as they both groaned and moaned and panted. Harry could feel it now, could feel it approaching faster than he liked. He didn’t want this to be over. He had a deep feeling of dread within him that was scared for this to be over and done with; when they had to face it. 

But it had to come, and, subsequently, so did Harry. His legs shook and felt like jelly beneath him as he held up both his and Malfoy’s weight, spilling into his pants as he bit down hard on Malfoy’s bottom lip. He felt Malfoy’s grip in his hair tighten painfully and knew that he, too, had become undone with the pleasure, and they both fell silent, the only sounds echoing in the room were their heavy breathing. 

“Oh, fuck,” said Harry, trying to catch his breath once again. “That was – was brilliant.”

“Brilliant,” Malfoy echoed. “That it was.”

Harry settled Malfoy back onto the ground and had to steady him again so he remained upright. He felt utterly kissed out and worn out, but could say with all of his honesty that he did not regret that for one second. Malfoy… Malfoy looked how Harry felt. He realised, with some apprehension and guilt, as he took a step backwards, the damage that he’d done. 

“Uh,” said Harry slowly. 

“What?” Malfoy replied.

“You… Uh…”

He sighed. “What, Potter?” 

“Your neck,” he mumbled, feeling as if he should look away to spare the man some privacy, but he wouldn’t dare wretch his eyes away from the beautiful sight before him; the marks littered upon Malfoy’s neck were truly a marvel. He felt a jolt of something unknown shoot through his body at the sight of them all, almost as if they were all a claim upon the man. He wouldn’t be able to hide all of those, Harry was sure, and he was somewhat… glad.

Malfoy’s eyes widened considerably and he looked around quickly. Harry assumed he was looking for some sort of mirror, because he made to dash towards the window, however quickly winced and cast a quick cleaning spell over himself before continuing.

Harry paused there, following suit with the spell over himself, because he had to admit it was getting more than a bit uncomfortable. He bit his lip as he watched Malfoy examine himself and felt a jolt of pain in it; he’d evidently bitten down too hard previously. 

“Potter!” Malfoy growled as he angled his head awkwardly in order to get a good view. “What have you _done_ to me!”

“Well, you didn’t seem to be complaining!” Harry protested. 

“I look like I’ve been mauled!”

Harry huffed a laugh at that, rolled his eyes. “I can assure you that I’m not a werewolf,” he said.

He saw, then, however brief the action was, Malfoy tense almost completely. He withdrew his hands from his neck and stood still for a second or two, as Harry watched, frowning with confusion. 

“Malfoy?”

“Potter,” he replied softly, turning around from the window and facing him again. His face was composed, now. “I hope you got some of your answers.”

“Right,” Harry said wearily. “I did. And just so you know, I don’t want to ask you anything under the curse anymore. I’m not going to do it.”

“Why?” 

“Because I might find out something that you don’t want me to know,” Harry admitted quietly. “And I respect your privacy.”

Malfoy stared at him incredulously. He took a step closer to Harry. “Ever so noble, even still, aren’t you?”

Harry held his gaze. “You’re welcome.”

Malfoy peered between his eyes then, Harry watched that grey gaze moving to look at each of his own. Then, as if nothing at all out of the ordinary had happened in this session between them, he sidestepped Harry and told him, “Same time next week, Potter,” and promptly left the room. Left Harry alone. 

Harry stood for several moments before he turned around, spotted his crumpled up parchment on the ground, and didn’t handle it very gently as he left.

  
  



	3. Good Tidings, and All That

_So, we’re not going to talk about it_ , thought Harry, as he played fimbly with his thumb, ignoring Hermione and glaring instead at the other side of the room, where Malfoy lay with his head in Pansy Parkinson’s lap. Harry watched her fingers etch through his hair and felt an angry tug at his chest. Malfoy was wearing a Slytherin scarf around his neck that had not been off ever since their meeting. Harry had overheard him telling Blaise that it was _because it’s getting to bloody December now, for goodness sake!_

_So, we’re really not going to talk about it,_ Harry thought again as they sat down for their Defence Against the Dark Arts class, next to each other once more. Malfoy still had on that damn scarf. Harry wanted to pull it off as Malfoy refused to even greet him. 

_We’re seriously not going to talk about it?_ Harry asked himself once their next session was finished, walking out of the room after Malfoy with a surprising new knowledge of what it was that exactly made doing it up the arse feel so good. Harry wished they could talk instead of just speak. 

_This is rude_ , he concluded after telling Malfoy in another session some tips on how he could focus his mind during the curse.

_This is ridiculous,_ he added on after Malfoy and Zabini had called over to ask him exactly what level of anger he’d feel if they asked him for some of his hair for a potion they couldn’t expand on. He had stopped needing to wear his scarf now. 

_This is infuriating,_ he wanted to shout when Malfoy commented smoothly on the fact that since the both of them would be leaving for the Christmas break, they should double their lessons afterwards. He patted Harry on the arm in thanks when Harry told him how he could concentrate when settling his mind and focusing on the present. Harry almost wanted to swat it off. 

_This is maddening,_ he almost said aloud when Malfoy smiled at him and told him to have a nice Christmas as they jumped off of the train into Kings Cross. Harry couldn’t return the goodwill. 

Harry felt as if he had thought of nothing but their encounter together for more than a month now, though the fact that Malfoy had seemed so unbothered by the entire fucking thing made his skin crawl. It was as if it had never happened; at one point Harry had been half-convinced that it _had_ been a dream. He was disillusioned by this idea quickly after Blaise brought up that it was actually _snowing_ at one point and Malfoy wasn’t wearing his scarf, and Malfoy had flushed a gorgeous colour of pink as he shouted and threw a snowball over at the man. Harry wasn’t sure whether he was happy with the fact that it had happened though, perhaps it would have been better if he had never had any hope at all. 

He sat with his legs up on his bed in the Burrow, chewing on his thumb, lost in thought. He had his own room now. The Weasley’s had done some renovations to the house with the money that they had received after the War was over for helping the effort most admirably. It was more spacious but somehow, Harry felt it to be still just as cosy and homely. Each member of the family had their own room now, and the rooms which were mostly unoccupied acted as guest bedrooms. 

For example, Charlie’s was empty almost all of the time due to his work. Bill’s was as well, having Shell Cottage with Fleur. Percy stayed in his room surprisingly often after making up with the lot of them and commuted to work with Arthur most days. George had moved with the Wheezes company from one end of the country to the other, never staying in one spot long. His room at the house remained how it had been, two beds and filled with boxes, one bed used more so than the other now. 

Ron had decided that, since he played _basically_ as much a part in saving the Wizarding World as Harry had done, he was owed _at least_ the second biggest bedroom. That, he got. Mr and Mrs Weasley had taken the biggest room for themselves, Ron had taken the next and the rest were all equal in sizing, apart from George’s, who hadn’t wanted his to change at all. 

Harry felt, for once in his life, that this was his home, above anywhere else he had stayed. Harry had now a room that was his and his alone, that had never been owned by anybody else. Not a hand-me-down room, or one that was unequal to everybody else’s in the house, or shared with four other boys. Certainly a lot comfier than a cupboard under the stairs 

He didn’t plan to stay a burden upon the Weasleys for long, but the entire family looked at him with bloody murder in their eyes for even mentioning the B-word. He felt like he had been adopted into their family even more so now than before the war, where even then he had been unconditionally accepted and loved for years. He was happy here. 

He still had Grimmauld Place to his name after Sirius had left it to him, but the entire place looked like it would take at least a year to become habitable once again. He planned to move out of the Burrow eventually, but every single Weasley had assured him that he had a place to stay until then, even the ones who were barely there at all. 

Living with Ginny had its downsides, though. It was only a little bit awkward after they had both mutually agreed that the two of them would be better off as friends. It was also a little bit daunting with at least one of her older brothers being in the same room of them whenever it would have otherwise been just the two of them. Tad bit awkward, and not much time to spend alone. Harry thought it was a miracle that he had not been punched by one of them for breaking up with her in the first place, anyway. 

All of the Weasleys were coming back to the Burrow for Christmas, and Hermione was coming to stay with them for New Years. Luna said that she and Neville might be able to come and stay with them as well, just as long as the Gurdyroots are working as good as they should be to keep away the Gulping Plimpies. 

Harry had all of his Christmas presents for the others ready in his bedroom, actually wrapped with nice little bows on top of them too. He was excited to give them out, excited to be sat around the large Christmas tree that was now proudly stood in the lounge and hand everyone their presents while the fire crackled in the background, mixed only with sounds of laughter and ripping wrapping paper. 

He expected that everybody was going to get upset at one point. He had seen it coming for a while. The first Christmas since Fred had gone. Mrs Weasley’s voice had broken more than once when she had been talking about _her boys coming home for the holidays._ He’d seen her eyes fill with tears when she thought that nobody could see her looking at the long, knitted stocking above the fireplace that bore the name of her late son. 

But, Harry thought, it was the first Christmas that he would have complete peace. Nothing to worry about. Nothing.

Charlie, Bill, George, Fleur and Angelina were all supposed to arrive that night, Christmas eve.

Harry heard a sudden knock on his door that interrupted his train of thought. He jumped up, sitting up straight and eyeing his wand on his bedside table, before calling, “Come in!”

Ron shuffled into the room with two mugs of steaming hot tea in his hands, a grin spread across his face. 

“Morning!” he said cheerfully as Harry took the mug he’d claimed as his with a smile and a thanks. Ron kicked the door closed behind him and sat down on the bed. “Mum’s stressing out again about dinner tonight. Had to get out of there before she could have a chance to shout at me to do it.”

Harry chuckled. “And you’re not helping your dear mother, Ron?” 

“Yeah, right, like she’d let me near the cooking even if I was a world-famous chef.”

“Is Gin helping?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s beside the point,” Ron said, and they shared a grin. “Good sleep?”

“Alright,” Harry answered truthfully and blew on his tea. His usual nightmares had been pushed aside for a series of deep breathing and distant whines of _Yes, Harry, yes, yes!_ Feeling as though he may start drooling, he cleared his throat and said quickly, “You?”

“I don’t know,” said Ron slowly. “I was in a field, and then Hermione was there and she was waiting for me with a picnic. She was wearing that really nice yellow dress I like, you know? Then I went to kiss her, but her lips were a portkey?” He sounded extremely confused more than anything, and Harry watched him with amusement as he took a sip of his tea. “And suddenly I was there, kissing Zacharias bloody Smith!” 

Harry released a snort into his tea, splashing it over his glasses. “Oh, God,” he laughed, quickly casting a cleaning spell over his wet, dripping face. He placed his mug down onto the bedside table and smirked at him. “Something you’d like to tell me, Ron? Hold on, is why you snuck into my room?”

“No!” Ron squeaked. The tips of his ears were red. “I think I might actually throw up when I next see him, you know.”

“Will you ever be able to kiss Hermione without shaking again?”

“No!” he exclaimed. “Wait, I mean, of course I will!”

Harry roared with laughter at his friend’s fumbling embarrassment. Ron quickly took to hiding his face in his cup of tea, which he immediately began slurping down. 

“Did you have a dream at all?” he asked Harry, clearly trying to divulge from his own shameful nightwander. 

“Uh,” said Harry, startled. If only Ron knew. “No.”

“Liar,” Ron said excitedly. “What was it? Was it… you know?” He raised his eyebrows and winked. 

“Er.”

“Wait, it wasn’t about Ginny, was it?” Ron said suddenly, his face screwed in worry. “Because I do _not_ want to hear about that.”

“You want to hear about it?” Harry laughed. 

“Well… I’ve heard that a bunch of mates tell each other about their sex stuff.” Ron shrugged. “I’m pretty sure, anyway.”

“Right,” said Harry. “Well… I really don’t wanna hear about what you do with Hermione, sorry.” He winced. “She’s like my sister.”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “I guess that’s understandable. I would not want to hear that about Ginny. Eugh…” He shuddered.

“Well, my dream wasn’t about Gin, so don’t worry.” 

“Good! Good.” Ron nodded, then added awkwardly, “So… Who was it about?”

“Er,” said Harry, trying to rack his mind of all of the girls they knew. “Rosmerta?”

“Why are you lying?” Ron narrowed his eyes and nudged him. “Come on.”

“Ron…”

“You don’t want to tell me?” He frowned. “Why?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said with a sigh, picking up his cup of tea and gulping it. His mind flashed with memories of the dream, pale skin, white-blond hair buried deep in his dark hand. His eyes widened. “It was Fleur,” he blurted. “That’s– That’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”

Ron seemed to believe this lie, as his face burst into a dark shade of red. “Oh,” he said. “You… Okay. That makes sense.”

Harry wasn’t sure whether or not he meant it made sense that he had supposedly had the dream about Fleur in the first place or that he didn’t want to tell Ron about it, considering that was his sister-in-law. 

There were a couple of moments of silence before Harry said, “I bet my dream wasn’t as spicy as yours, though. Hey, was Zachie-Wackie good, or not?” he said, and let his grin engulf his face as Ron went incredibly redder. He instinctively shuffled back onto the bed as Ron scrambled over to him. “When’s the wedding, Won-Won?”

Harry yelped as Ron picked up one of Harry’s pillows and started to whack him with it. He kicked his legs up at him in defence, waving his fists. Ron grabbed one of them and pinned it down above his head, and Harry, for a split second, felt… something.

There was an actual man on top of him, actually pinning him down onto an actual bed. Harry felt his mind whizzing, thinking about a different scenario in which this position might have happened, with Harry pressed down by somebody strong, rolling into him, spreading his legs, and—

And that would be by somebody who wasn’t _Ron fucking Weasley_ , Harry thought, and actually wretched a little bit. 

“Agh!” Ron shouted, jumping back from Harry. “Are you gonna throw up?”

“No,” Harry said with a shake of his head. “I was just thinking of your honeymoon with Zach.”

“Harry!” Ron groaned and hit him once again. “Stop it! I’ll tell Hermione on you, I swear it!”

Harry snorted and Ron hit him smack in the face with a pillow.

“Get off, get off,” Harry laughed, shoving him in the chest. Ron rolled onto his back beside Harry, and they lay there in giggles. 

It was a while before either of them spoke again. 

“Your tea is going to get cold,” Ron told Harry softly.

“Oh!” Harry sat up quickly, grabbing his cup of now lukewarm tea and downing the rest of it, swinging his legs back and forth off of the bed. He heard Ron sigh behind him. 

“Harry?”

“Mm?” Harry mumbled from inside his cup. 

“You know you’re my best mate, right?” 

Harry put his cup in his lap, turning his head to frown at Ron. “Yeah. And you’re mine.”

The edges of his mouth stretched up a little bit. “Yeah. So… You know you can tell me anything. Right?”

Harry paused for a second, before turning his whole body around. He sat cross-legged. “Yes.”

“So… If you wanted to maybe, I don’t know, mention anything… You know, when you’re ready,” he added hastily, determinedly not looking Harry in his eyes. “Maybe… You could also mention something to Charlie, as well, seeing as he’s coming over soon…”

“Charlie,” Harry said. “Your other brothers will be over as well.”

“Yeah, but…” Ron trailed off. Harry suddenly understood.

Ron knew. He didn’t have a clue how — maybe Hermione had mentioned something to him. He was mentioning Charlie, Harry knew, because Charlie was gay. Harry felt a kind of anxious pressure build up inside his chest as he stared, open-mouthed at his best friend. 

He hadn’t actually told anybody outright yet that he wasn’t heterosexual. He’d told Hermione and Malfoy that he was curious, of course, but many people must get curious about that stuff. Malfoy probably knew now, after that escapade in their unspoken of session, but Harry had never once said it out loud to anybody. Not even to himself.

“Um,” Harry said, and Ron’s head shot up to look at him. It was Harry’s turn to awkwardly avoid eye contact now. “So, Charlie.”

Ron nodded fervently.

“Did… What did your family think? When Charlie told them that he, er, liked dragons?”

Ron scratched his nose. “Well… I was still pretty young when Charlie told everybody that he liked dragons. But there was nothing bad ever said about it. In fact, he brought a dragon back here the summer after our second year. Dad loved him because he was muggle-born. Mum took to him after he’d shown how good he was at cooking. He was, too, made absolutely gorgeous chocolate cauldron cakes for the lot of us!” 

“Never heard of a dragon who could cook,” Harry commented with a laugh. 

Ron chuckled with him, but directed a nervous, though almost encouraging smile up to him. “Harry?”

“Ron,” he said, and held his breath for a second. “I think I fancy blokes.”

He rolled his eyes at Harry and pushed himself closer. “Come here, you tosspot,” he said, and Harry hugged him. 

Harry drew back a little lost for breath. He was dumbfounded at how easy it had been, and couldn’t quite believe that it had happened at all. 

“You’ve never fancied me, have you?” Ron asked after a second. 

Harry snorted. “God, no.”

“Hey! What does that mean?” he pouted. “Why not?”

“Well, I didn’t really want to offend Zacharias Smith,” Harry said in a deadpan tone, and Ron shot a stinging jinx at his leg. 

*

The dinner that evening was one of the best that Harry had ever had, he’d told Mrs Weasley. It was true, as well, though not specifically because of all of the food. 

Seeing the family was wonderful. It made him feel even more accepted than he already did, somehow, even though George had pulled him aside to tell him not to mess Ginny about, because he’d come after him if he did. Then he smiled, clapped Harry on the shoulder and told him that he was just joking because they both knew Ginny would do that herself before either of them could blink. 

“So,” Bill said as Mrs Weasley was serving dessert. “Ron, how’s Hermione?”

Harry looked to Ron, who had flushed a bright red. “Yeah,” he replied. “She’s good. I mean, not good. I mean. She’s brilliant.”

“They’re like lovesick puppies,” Harry told the table to a small chuckle. 

“Yeah, alright… I guess we are,” he said, his voice dripping with sap.

“Well, I don’t want my first grandchildren to be from my youngest son!” Mrs Weasley announced as she placed a dish full of sticky toffee pudding in the centre of the table. “Bill, Fleur, dear, no news to announce to us?”

As Ron spluttered and tried to dispute what his mother had implied, Fleur giggled and entwined her fingers with her husband’s. 

“Non, no news, I am afraid!” Her thumb stroked over his knuckles. She bit her lip, though, and refused a glass of champagne once again. 

Harry’s eyes shot to Ron’s immediately and he knew that they were both thinking the same thing. Feeling like a fourteen-year-old again, he and Ron snorted and hid their faces as Mrs Weasley clapped her hands together loudly and cooed at the married couple before remembering something about another dish and running off to the kitchen again. 

“What about you, Harry?” Bill asked, dragging Harry out from his laughter. “Any lucky buggers out for the Saviour?” he teased.

Beside him, Ron rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t go a day without getting a proposal, you know.”

“Not that it’s not flattering,” Harry added, laughing. “I don’t know if I’m looking for anything right now.”

“I know what you mean,” Charlie spoke up from the other side of the table, next to Percy. “Nice to just have time to yourself, huh?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, and as he did so he snuck a glance towards Ginny, who smiled at him comfortingly. He smiled back, before directing his speech back to Charlie. “I’m… trying to sort myself out, first.”

Ron clapped him on the shoulder and something across Charlie’s face piqued with recognition. 

“Nobody caught your eye, then?” he asked.

Harry thought of Malfoy, about their unspoken of encounter, and the many times that Harry had indeed had his eyes on him. “No,” he lied. “I’m for the taking.”

Charlie nodded slowly, as if considering something, before turning to Percy and starting a pointed discussion about the Ministry’s plans on dragon’s rights after what had happened at Gringotts. Ron narrowed his eyes and turned to Harry, whispering in his ear slowly, “Did Charlie just flirt with you?”

“No,” Harry replied at once. He didn’t. Did he? No. Surely not. 

Charlie had no way of knowing about Harry’s preferences and frankly, Harry would prefer if it stayed that way. He didn’t want anybody else to know until he was ready to share it. It didn’t matter if Charlie was gay, really, but Harry thought, for a moment, that that might make it easier. 

He debated then, in his head, would it be bad if Charlie had flirted with him? He examined the parts of Charlie that he could see and yes, he was an attractive man, but Harry didn’t know whether he’d be able to stand the likeness to Ron. He thought of Malfoy again and suddenly felt decidedly guilty, though he had no real reason to.

“No whispering at the table, please, boys!” Mrs Weasley told them as she lowered a plate full of treacle tarts under their noses, and smacked Ron’s hand away as he went for one.

Angelina, George and Ginny were engaged in a hearty conversation about Quidditch, and whilst Harry was watching, aching to get involved, he heard Percy address him. 

“Harry?” he said timidly. “Sorry, you seemed distracted. I just wished to ask you, as it’s been quite the talk at work, is it… I don’t mean to be a gossip, I frankly am rather interested in your opinion, but how do you feel about Draco Malfoy returning to Hogwarts?”

Harry’s breath seemed to be caught in his chest. For a moment, he simply stared at Percy, before what he had asked actually sunk in. 

“Malfoy used to be a twa– a bad person. But he’s not his father,” he said plainly. 

The conversation around them seemed to have died down as they turned their attention to listen. Harry felt hot under the spotlight.

“He has the mark, does he not? That boy?” Fleur asked. “The horrid mark?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “But he was never really a Death Eater.”

“I agree,” Mr Weasley commented, and when Harry looked at him he had a proud sort of smile on his face. “That boy has been through a lot.”

“Well, we all have,” Ron said.

“Ron, I saw Voldemort force him to torture people,” Harry told him a little heatedly. “You can’t – His face _…_ ” 

“You don’t think he wanted to do it?” Angelina asked. “I remember what he was like in school. Got you and the twins banned from Quidditch for life!”

“That’s not really equivalent to becoming a Death Eater and wanting to torture people, is it?” Harry asked, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

“Not playing Quidditch sounds like torture to me,” she mumbled. 

“Look, he really suffered through the War. He’s suffering still, now. I don’t know the half of what he had to endure, but I know what it was like to have Voldemort in my head. That was only flashes. He had Voldemort living in his house constantly, every day. Not to mention other vile people, like, like–”

“Greyback,” Bill finished for him. “It’s a wonder the boy wasn’t turned… Greyback loved them young. Malfoy was probably young enough. I wonder–”

“Stop!” Mrs Weasley shrieked as she walked back in. Her hands were shaking and her face was pale white. “No more about this, please!”

Everybody accepted this. Feeling bad about upsetting Mrs Weasley, Harry offered to help her with the final dishes to be served, but she’d shook her head and told him not to be silly. When she scuttled again out of the room, Mr Weasley caught his eye and told him, “It’s good that you want to move forward with Malfoy, Harry.”

He didn’t know the half of it, Harry thought to himself. 

After desserts, Ron told him that he was going to go and write a letter to Hermione. Harry, however, headed to the garden for a stroll. It was snowing, and the dusting of the white powder on the Burrow always made a great sight to behold. 

He shivered as he tottered around. His cloak was warm but the memories that he’d had there were making him feel chilly as well. He remembered Bill and Fleur’s wedding. His birthday, the night before that, and his Snitch birthday cake that he’d eaten in this very garden. Rufus Scrimgeour had arrived. Harry remembered that he was dead, now, and then remembered that almost half of everybody he’d known must be dead as well. 

The trees and bushes were shying away from the snow and the ugly little gnomes were watching him walk from their hideout underneath the flowerbeds, their beady eyes popping out and following him. 

He sat down on the ground and shifted to get comfortable. From his pocket, he pulled his wand, examining it closely. 

This was the wand that he was used to. His original; better than the Elder Wand, the Deathstick. He didn’t want one that was new; didn’t want Hermione’s vinewood wand, which he had had to use briefly when his own had snapped; he didn’t want to use Malfoy’s Hawthorn wand that had helped him destroy the Dark Lord. His wand was safe. It was good. It was perfect. 

The fact that his wand could be fixed was absolutely music to Harry, blissful, wonderful. Harry had wondered though, briefly, what his wand would’ve been if he had to acquire a new one. Perhaps beech, he thought, remembering the beech tree by the Great Lake. His father, Sirius, Remus, and Pettigrew entered his mind. He pushed Pettigrew aside in his head and reminded himself of his father’s familiar quirks with his hair, fumbling over himself to impress Lily Evans, the girl whose initials Harry had seen his father scribbling in a gigantic heart. 

He shuddered as he remembered seeing James again, the memory he had witnessed a year ago to this day. The thought now of knowing that Voldemort had witnessed his father playing so innocently with Harry when he was a baby was ripe and burning through his mind. His father had looked so happy; as had he, Harry, giggling at the small yet great performances of puffs of magic. He remembered how his mother had clutched him, hugged him, loved the smallness that was Harry, who wished that he could remember the scene for himself. 

“ _Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!”_

His father’s voice swam through his head. The memory that was not his was so vivid. His father, defenceless, wandless, and ready to sacrifice everything for his son and the woman he loved. 

His mother; _“Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy…”_

Harry’s eyes prickled with hot tears that stung and forced themselves out, down his cheeks. His mother, who did not run, but sacrificed herself also so as to make sure Harry would be safe. Harry wondered, briefly, if his mother was partially persuaded by the fact that she did not want to live in a world without his father. Harry could vouch for her, it was often not one that he wanted to live in, either. 

Harry wondered, too, if in their last few moments, they knew that one of their best friends had betrayed them. He hoped that it had slipped their minds, they had had enough anguish in their last seconds. 

And they were so young, he knew. Only three years older than Harry was now, sat here, crying like a baby whilst unsettled at eighteen. Growing up, he had always pictured his parents to be years and years away, untouchable, but now Harry sat and wondered if he could ever even think of having children, let alone so soon, and whether or not he would be able to stand his twenty-first birthday. He knew as he grew, he would have less and less people telling him how much he resembled his father, because he would not have grown to reach the ages that Harry would. 

He wiped his cheeks and sniffed, all the while wondering whether it would be rude to leave now and visit Godric’s Hollow again. He wanted to see the statue there. He wanted to be able to reach out and feel his parents as if they were real, as he had never been able to do before. 

He thought of Sirius, and Remus, the father figures he would have had growing up if not for Dumbledore and the Dursleys. He thought of Tonks, of her father, too, and then of poor little Teddy, who would have to grow up almost alone, as Harry had done. He wouldn’t let that happen. Harry was going to be his godfather and fulfil his abilities. 

Though, one thought stuck with him. Children should never die before their parents, but sometimes, the children wished they would. 

Harry watched blurrily as snowflakes fell and settled gently upon his wand. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and softly waved his wand, watched as wisps of white and light blue twirled upwards out of it, and faded away. He thought, as he sat there in the freezing cold, that it was only right for him to see Teddy tomorrow. It was Christmas, after all. His first ever Christmas and Harry was going to make damn sure that he enjoyed it. 

The snow was beginning to settle and Harry felt it melting on the back of his neck, saw it on his hands, yet building upon the grass around his feet. 

“Harry, dear,” he heard and looked up towards the door back to the Burrow. Molly and Arthur Weasley stood, looking over at Harry with both warmth and worry in their soft eyes. Harry gazed at them both in the yellow-orange light flooding from the kitchen and realised then, there, that they were the closest he was ever going to actually get to parental figures, and he couldn’t wish for anybody better. 

He started to sob, then, and dropped his head, shaking not due to the temperature. He knew that he could not replace the son that they had lost to the War that was partly his fault, but Harry knew that that did not matter to them. They loved Harry like a son, anyway, and had done since he had been his malnourished, small, fumbling self alone at Kings Cross all those years ago. 

And as Harry was only briefly aware of the two of them hurrying over to him, hugging him, comforting him as parents did, he felt for a moment that he could feel the appreciation and warmth of Lily and James looking down upon the three of them fondly. 

“I miss them,” Harry wept, allowing his head to be directed to rest upon Mrs Weasley’s chest. “I miss all of them.” 

She hugged him softly with small, occasional hushes. Mr Weasley rubbed his back. Harry could hear Mrs Weasley start to try and hold back her own gasps of sorrow. 

Mr Weasley had moved nearer so that he could comfort the both of them and had leant over Harry so as to press his forehead against his wife’s, still comfortingly rubbing Harry’s back as he did so. In this, Harry felt protected. 

_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._

They had, Harry knew, defeated it. They were happy, now. The best of the Marauders back together, gazing down at Harry, having defeated not only death, but having conquered life. 

*

Harry wasn’t sure when he was moved back into the house, when he had gotten into his bed, when he had fallen asleep. His head hurt when he opened his eyes and for a second he had completely forgotten the events of the previous night.

It came crashing back to him like a wave of dark, cold water. He couldn’t believe that he’d let himself break down in front of Mr and Mrs Weasley as he had done, not when they were surely in bits with grief themselves. 

He grabbed his glasses and shoved them on his face before staring wistfully at the cherished photograph of his mother and father that sat on his bedside table. The two of them were still smiling at him, still dancing, and they looked so incredibly happy that Harry couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Merry Christmas, mum. Merry Christmas, dad,” he whispered to them, and threw himself out of the bed. Looking out of the window, the entirety of the glass was filled to the brim with snow obstructing his sight at the outside world. He liked that, in a way. It was like he was protected. 

Harry muttered a quick _tempus_ charm and saw that he was up far, far too early, however, he didn’t feel at all tired. It was almost five in the morning, and even though it was Christmas day and everything, Harry was quite sure that he was the only one up. He was half tempted to go back to sleep, but the dreams and nightmares that threatened him were enough that he was sure they would ruin the kind of content he was feeling. 

He looked over to the corner of his room, where the pile of presents he had to give out were sitting, waiting. After smiling at them, he levitated them all downstairs behind him as he walked down into the living room. 

It was beautiful. The fairies around the tree and the gnome on top of it made the sight almost breathtaking. The snow visible in the windows, the piles and piles of presents, and the crackling fire illuminating the room a comforting orange, it all made Harry feel incredibly warm inside, almost festive. 

He felt like he’d needed to have that cry, the previous night. It definitely did him some good. 

There was a pile of presents for each person there at the Burrow, as well as one extra. He bent down to inspect all of them, reading in understanding until he saw the pile that all of the presents were signed with Hermione’s full name and address. It seemed they were to be sending their gifts to her instead of waiting to see her on New Years. 

Harry put each of his presents onto their respective piles of presents, adding an extra one onto Fleur’s for her to take home to Gabrielle. In his bedroom, he had many others for his other friends, presents that he would be sure to give out later on. 

He whistled as he made his way over to the kitchen, turning on the kettle with a flick of his wand and assembly all of the cups into a line with another. Pouring appropriate amounts of sugar into each respective mug, tea bags, steaming hot water from the quickly boiled kettle and milk into each of them, he cast an effective preserving charm to keep them all hot for when the family all woke up. 

Harry sat himself down on the sofa with his mug of tea in his hand, staring at the gifts. There were so many more than Harry had imagined; he assumed it was because of the mix of the fact that all of the family were together now, so they had no choice but to give each other presents, and the fact that because of the War, the family had been given compensation and thanks from the Ministry. 

Harry’s pile was about the same size as Ron’s, which surprised him thoroughly; he’d always gotten far fewer presents than Ron had, due to his much larger family by comparison. Now, it seemed that there were presents from their friends, as well as people they’d fought alongside in the War, as well as people who were offering their thanks to Harry and the other people who’d saved the Wizarding World. He worried briefly that there may be some hidden love potions in there.

Then he heard a distinct scratching on the window. Turning his head, he saw nothing and thought perhaps that he had imagined it.

He turned back to his tea and examined his presents again. He rather thought that he must have more than Dudley did, this year. 

He heard the scratching on the window again and turned once more, eyebrows furrowed. Perhaps the wind was playing a trick on him?

He thought of Dudley, and of their last meeting. The words _I don’t think you’re a waste of space_ still echoed oddly in his brain, a year of them having been spoken. It was strange to think that after bullying Harry for years and years, it was possible for him to even mutter anything nice about him. 

His aunt and uncle, on the other hand, he did not think they could ever care to. Of course, Aunt Petunia had protected Harry from the clutches of Voldemort by just having her sister’s blood in her, but ask the woman to call Harry less than a waste of space and she might just collapse.

_Scratch, scratch._ That bloody window again. Harry put down his tea and walked to it, attempting to look through the glass to no avail. It was completely white. 

Against his better instincts, Harry opened the window to the blizzard, and in came a spotted wood owl that was holding a cylindrical package and a note. She was rather adorable, covered in snow so that she looked almost completely white, but she was shivering. Harry closed the window behind her and smoothed her on the head. She cooed. 

He took the note and gave it a look. 

_Potter,_

_I do hope you enjoy your present. Merry Christmas._

_Draco Malfoy._

_P.S: Mother sends her regards, though she definitely does_ **_not_ ** _know what I’m sending you._

With a surge of excitement, Harry took the parcel and, without even thinking to wait until he opened his other presents, ripped it open. A copy of the magazine that Malfoy had once referenced in one of their sessions, WizardAndWizard, was now in his hand, and boy, he was very lucky he hadn’t decided to wait.

The front cover of the magazine contained two handsome men; the one in front was shirtless, and the one behind him had his hands trailing over the one in front’s torso. They smirked up at Harry, winking at him, and the one behind bit the other’s ear before the one in front turned to start to kiss him. And kiss him. Fuck, he was really, really kissing him. 

Harry’s throat was dry, and he licked his lips as his fingers creased the paper. He was so tempted to open the thing now, to look through and examine every page in the magazine until it was worn to bits. A cough behind him made him almost drop it. 

“Morning,” said Charlie when he turned around. Charlie hesitated but chuckled when he saw the magazine still in Harry’s hands. “Ah.”

“Um,” Harry said, wanting to hide the magazine behind his back but not sure whether it was worth doing, now. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said kindly, walking over to his cup of tea. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?” Harry said dumbly.

“For - For the tea.” Charlie frowned. “Maybe you ought to go back to bed for a while, Harry.”

Harry agreed. The magazine in his grip was tempting him to head back to his bedroom and not come out for an hour at least. 

“Oh, it’s fine,” Harry said. “Uh, I do need to go put this… Put this away.”

Charlie nodded. “Yeah, dunno what mum would do if she saw you with...” He laughed. Harry was a little taken with the look on his face. “She never let us have anything like that.”

Harry thought this over for a moment, trying not to think about what the man in front of him would do with a magazine like this. It struck him then, a thought, and suddenly he blurted, “What’s it like to have a boyfriend?”

“Oh,” he said, halfway to raising his mug to his mouth. “Well. It’s very much like having a girlfriend, but with more…”

“Penis?” Harry suggested.

“I was going to say testosterone,” Charlie laughed. “But, yes, that as well.”

“So, it’s not that different?”

“Not really. I suppose it’s easier, because search me if I know how the minds of women work.”

Harry laughed in agreement. He knew all too well what Charlie meant. 

“Me too.”

“You _have_ got your eye on someone, then?”

“No. Well,” he added hastily. “I don’t know.”

“Ah, we’ve all been there,” Charlie said. “Go and hide that magazine. Happy Christmas, Harry.” 

He watched Charlie walk to the sitting room with a smile and the owl that had brought the package hooted to Harry. He looked down at it, held out his arm, and it jumped on happily. 

Harry walked upstairs with the magazine underneath his arm, hoping that nobody would stop him as he walked back up to his bedroom. He wanted to hide this for later, and he needed to write a response to Malfoy. 

He shut his bedroom door. The owl hooted again and flew over to Harry’s desk, where a bottle of ink and parchment lay. He was obviously ready to travel through this weather again, all the way back to Malfoy Manor. The thought of the place made him shiver. 

Hastily, he shoved the magazine under one of his pillows and sat himself down in the chair by his desk. He pulled out the quill and dipped it in his ink. 

_Malfoy,_

_Merry Christmas. Thank you for the ‘gift.’ I’m sorry I can’t send back a present of a similar nature._

_Harry._

He tied the note to the owl and stroked her once again. He picked up a couple of nuts from a dish on the desk and held out his hand, the owl pecking from his palm. 

“Are you sure you want to go out again?” Harry asked her as he opened his window and snow came bursting into his room. She hooted at him happily. 

He held his arm out of the window and she flew off, out into the snowy morning. 

Slowly, he turned back to his bed. He could almost hear the magazine calling to him, going ‘ _Haaaaarrryyyyyy, we’re too sexy for you to haaaaandle!’_ And he bit his lip as he strode forwards, flinging a _Colloportus_ at his bedroom door. He reached down, thinking of what lay underneath the pillow, and groping himself above his clothes that he was still wearing from the night before. 

Harry sat down on the bed and pulled the magazine out from beneath the pillow. The two men waved at him seductively before they went back to kissing again. He held his breath, before propping his pillow up and lying down on his back, his head tilted up by the pillow. He undid his trousers and pushed them to his knees, then held his dick through his underwear. Taking a deep breath, he flipped open the front page. 

Talk about throwing someone in at the deep end - Harry could barely contain a gasp as the first thing he saw was a handsome young man, whose eyes were rolled back in ecstasy, with his mouth wrapped around a cock. Whoever’s cock it was, Harry couldn’t see, but the handsome young man in the magazine was looking up right into his eyes so intensely that he didn’t care. If, Harry thought, he put the magazine down by his crotch, he could probably pretend that this was happening to him. Only, he wouldn’t be able to feel it happening, and the cock that was in his mouth was far too lightly coloured to be his. He didn’t believe it. 

His mouth was moving up and down, up and down the cock like he loved it more than anything else. He gazed up into Harry’s eyes once again, after they had been closed for a while, and winked at him. Harry felt his dick twitch and he squeezed it gently. He remembered having caught sight of some of Dudley’s magazines one day, with scantily clad ladies frozen in place, and he was so, _so_ happy he was a wizard. 

He flipped the page once again and physically felt his heart beat faster. It was an impeccable sight; a man in a suit and tie, being pulled along by the tie by another man in normal muggle clothing. The apparent muggle let himself get pinned against the wall, and the suited man tightly gripped onto his arse. Harry wasn’t feeling too patient, however, and these men were still insufferably clothed. 

The next page. Harry felt himself salivate as he saw a man bent over, completely naked apart from knee-high stockings and a Slytherin tie. Harry watched the boy, golden hair sliding down over his forehead. Slowly, a man approached from behind him, in robes that were clearly meant to resemble a professor at Hogwarts. The man’s hand, large and tanned, slapped the behind of the man who was clearly supposed to be a student. Harry watched it bounce under the force and bit his lip. He was at least half-hard now. 

Then the professor bent down and pressed his mouth to the student’s behind. Harry watched as he licked it, poking his tongue against his hole, smacking his hands on his cheeks and digging his nails into them. He spread them apart as he dug in, shoving his face further into his arse. Harry’s breath sped up, and he began to inch his hand into his underwear now, fully grasping his cock. He did not expect to be this aroused by the moving image.

The student’s mouth seemed to be in between the choice of being dropped and biting his lip. His eyes were screwed up tightly and he fisted the sheets that he was holding, rocking his hips back into the man’s mouth. The man’s fingers were soon added to his behind, ravishing, fingering him deeply. 

He wished that he was able to hear what was happening in that room. He wished he could hear the moans and whimpers spilling out of the boy’s pretty, bitten mouth, the slaps on his behind and the whines of _‘professor!’_

Harry never thought he’d be into roleplay, but this certainly wasn’t putting him off it. 

Next thing Harry knew, the student had spread his legs even more and the man’s mouth and fingers were no longer near his hole. For a second, Harry was disappointed, and then he saw what had instead entered him. The man had pushed his cock deep into the student, and the latter seemed to be panting and writhing on his hands and knees, pushing himself backwards against his professor. He looked beautiful though, in agonising pleasure, his face portraying how much he just wished for the other man to move hard and deep inside him. 

He seemed to be teasing the student, and so Harry teased himself. He skimmed his fingers over the head of his dick and gripped himself again only lightly. However brief the contact with himself was, it was wonderful. His first time that he was getting off with material like this, and he wanted to draw it out. He wanted to make this last. 

He was unable to help himself when the professor finally started to move, pulling back and slamming into the student’s arse again, and again, and again, until the boy’s arms were shaking and giving out underneath him. His mouth fell open and his face fell forwards right onto the bed, and he was dribbling onto the sheets. The professor was fucking him so ruthlessly and harshly that Harry was struck for breath. He wanted it - he didn’t know which part of it he wanted but he wanted it so fucking badly. 

The professor pulled back his hand and landed one harsh smack onto his backside once again. Harry liked that. He landed another one. Harry liked that even more. 

But then the scene ended, and the photograph restarted once again. Harry groaned, grasping his cock in frustration and starting to jerk himself again at the sight, but his curiosity got the better of him this time. When he flipped the page once more, his mouth simply dropped, though it wasn’t just at the images spread across the double-page spread.

“Fuck,” Harry said aloud. In the magazine he was holding was what seemed to be a mirror. Across the top of the page, it read, in large letters, _The Boy Who Fucked._

The images on the page were of some sort of replica; Harry was worried for a second that they had gotten hold of some of his DNA to be used in a polyjuice potion, but on closer inspection, he could tell the differences. The man on the page, his eyes weren’t the same shade of green as his, and his hair was nowhere near as messy. His body was fitter, his cock was bigger, and he had no scar embedded in his forehead, or… In fact, his body was completely scar free, most unlike the real Harry’s. 

But it wasn’t the acts that Harry’s doppelgänger was doing that made Harry so shocked. The fact that the other Harry was fucking a man who was brilliantly blond, pounding deeply into the pale arse of what looked like… Fuck. 

He then noticed the writing underneath: _Dark Lord’s Right Hand Boy - Put In His Place!_

And yet still it was not that which made him so flabbergasted. No, it was that over many of the intense moving pictures, some of which with Malfoy’s lookalike completely bound, being hit, etc, there were stains all over the paper.

Stains, Harry knew, had belonged to the last owner of this magazine. Malfoy… Malfoy had gotten off to this. Malfoy had touched himself while watching the replica of the two of them fucking. From the looks of it, he’d gotten off to the sight of it several times, perhaps just over and over again. There was the fact that none of the pages before this one had stains on it either, so… Maybe Malfoy had just bought the issue for this one spread?

In fact, now that Harry thought about it, more with his cock than with anything else, that maybe Malfoy had sent this to Harry in the hopes of him seeing just how much he had gotten off to the lookalikes. That seemed like a very Malfoy-ish thing to do. 

Harry’s eyes were glazed over as he gazed at the several moving photographs of fake-Malfoy gagging on fake-Harry, of fake-Harry plunging deeply into him, and smacking him and whipping him, binding him and blindfolding him… 

Was this the kind of thing that Malfoy was into? Harshness, ruthlessness, pain? Harry began to rub himself quicker at the thought - the image of him and Malfoy doing this stuff combating the images of the two men on the page. Did Malfoy want Harry to do this to him? Tie him up and smack him before he fucked him so roughly that he passed out? 

Did Malfoy want Harry at all?

He thought of him and Malfoy at one of their sessions, hypothetical, thought of Harry casting _incarcerous_ on Malfoy like he had seen Logan do to him before. But Harry would be better. Harry _was_ better - a thousand times better than that fucking Logan, who didn’t deserve to touch Malfoy because Harry wanted to touch Malfoy instead. Harry wanted Malfoy so badly and so deeply that he thought that he might explode - and _knew_ that he would explode if he so much as heard a rumour that Logan and Malfoy were back on again. 

No, Harry wanted to take Malfoy for himself, to mark him up as he had done so before. He wanted to shove Malfoy against the wall and actually fuck him, this time, instead of feeble attempts at dry humping and frotting. No - Harry wanted to fuck him, he wanted to do _everything_ with Malfoy. 

Harry came, throwing back his head at the thought and screwing his eyes shut, not even sparing a glance at the doppelgängers on the page in front of him. No, he was far more interested in imagining the real thing, instead of seeing the fake. He bit his lip to avoid the sounds of his moans escaping; he’d forgotten to cast a _muffliato_ at the door, after all. 

Deep breaths escaping him, the paper creased underneath his fingers and Harry jerked himself through his orgasm, his cum dribbling out over his fist. He didn’t think he’d ever had quite an orgasm like that by himself before. 

_Scratch, scratch, scratch._ Harry looked up to the window, wiping his nose underneath his glasses free from sweat. He pushed the magazine back underneath his pillow and pulled up his underwear and jeans, hurrying over to the snow-covered glass. This owl must be bloody impressive, he thought, to travel that fast, there and back again with his letter. 

He let the bird in and it hooted even happier yet again. She held out her leg for Harry to take the note attached to it, and he did so, stroking her with his finger yet again. Don’t worry, he told her internally, he was using his other hand. 

_Potter,_

_Knowing you’ve read it is a gift enough._

_Draco Malfoy._

He frowned. He didn’t want to be this disappointed at the shortness of the message, and yet somehow… But the words sank in, and he gulped; had he wanted Harry to see that page, and the stains, all along?

He sat down hastily and started to scribble. 

_Malfoy,_

_I’ve just had a look. There was one rather odd page that seemed to have been a bit ruined. Know anything about that?_

_Harry._

And he tied it to the bird, who nuzzled his finger some more, before taking off out of the window without waiting for a treat. 

Fully expecting the owl to take hours to return, Harry went and washed his hands before changing into his pyjamas. Charlie had been in his pyjamas still, and he assumed that it was normal for families to stay in their pyjamas like that on Christmas morning. He didn’t really want everybody asking why he’d slept in his jeans and t-shirt, after all, and he didn’t want Mr and Mrs Weasley to have to lie for him. He was just glad that Charlie hadn’t seemed to have noticed. He took a deep breath and headed downstairs.

Mrs Weasley had greeted Harry with the warmest and most maternal hug that Harry had ever imagined receiving, murmuring a Christmas greeting before kissing him softly on his cheek. Mr Weasley had followed behind her, nuzzling his hair and giving him a hug as well. 

As he approached the sitting room again, the chatter that had not previously been there made the whole scenario even more cosy and Christmassy, somehow. The family all greeted him with similar greetings to Mrs Weasley, and Ron pulled him to sit on the floor with him. Ginny had given him a sweet smile and a hug, and for a second he almost felt nostalgic at it. 

They all exchanged gifts, and Harry tried not to look embarrassed as they all opened the ones that he’d given to them. He’d gifted Mr and Mrs Weasley a delightful looking swing seat that he’d seen once in his childhood. He felt like it would be a lovely addition to their garden, and they seemed to think so as well, Mrs Weasley bursting into tears as she saw it. He had shrunk it before wrapping it, so it would be able to fit into the living room. 

For George and Angelina, Harry had gifted the two of them the all-access passes to every Quidditch match that they could ever want to go to, free of charge. George’s eyes had actually filled at that, too, and Angelina had told him that this finally made up for him missing Quidditch practice due to one too many ill-timed detentions. 

Percy had gone bright red when he unwrapped his gift from Harry: a personal Quick Quotes Quill that didn’t actually write rubbish down, but everything you told it to. It also came with its own never-ending notepad, on the top of which was written, ‘ _The most dedicated Ministry employee I have ever met, your brilliance will take you even further to the top,”_ and a letter of recommendation from McGonagall herself, straight to Shacklebolt.

Bill and Fleur had unwrapped their gift and she had immediately gasped at it, while Bill frowned and covered his mouth. Harry had contacted Elphias Doge about one half of their present, and Ludo Bagman about the other half. On one side, there was a beautiful photo of Bill and Fleur near the first time that they had met, in Harry’s fourth year. Fleur was laughing at something Bill had said, was blushing and fluttering her eyelashes, and Bill was looking at her like she was the world. It had evidently been taken from a photo he’d had of a different occasion, zoomed in, but the quality was perfect anyway. The other side of the present was from their wedding, courtesy of Doge, who had somehow managed to capture the sweet moment before the two of them kissed, gazing into each other’s eyes like they had nothing and everything to lose at the same time.

“Harry…” Bill whispered as Fleur waved tears away and launched forwards to wrap him in a tight hug. He felt Ron nudge him a little and pat her on the back to end the hug awkwardly.

Charlie had received from Harry, however, a small slip of paper that read, ‘ _Go to see Hagrid. Ask him about the special scaly friend in the Forest. He’ll know what you mean.’_

Charlie had snapped his head up to him, looking at him with a sort of look that said, _you did not._ Harry merely grinned at him. 

For Ginny, he had only given a slip of paper as well. She frowned at it for a moment, before saying, “A muggle phone number?”

“A muggle phone number,” Harry confirmed smugly.

“Harry, thank you, but I don’t need to get hookups sent to me by my ex-boyfriend,” she told him, and he snorted.

“Yeah, no, Gin’, I wouldn’t be that shallow. That is the phone number of Gwenog Jones. Apparently she’s a half-blood. She contacted me and asked me to put you in contact with her. She’s heard that you’re a brilliant player, apparently.”

Ginny’s eyes were wide. “She- Gwenog Jones?”

“She asked me for you specifically, and was very sad when I told her you weren’t out of Hogwarts yet,” he laughed. 

She flushed a bright red colour and covered her mouth in shock, shaking her head. “Harry, you shouldn’t–”

“She asked for you personally,” said Harry, holding up his hands. “I did nothing but deliver it.”

He knew that if he had asked somebody for something like this, then Ginny would have felt as if she hadn’t really deserved it. She smiled brightly. 

“Thank you, Harry. Really.”

“It’s fine, Gin,” he replied with a soft smile. 

Ron’s present was the one that Harry had most anticipated. With his breath held as he ripped off the paper, the gasp that came out of him sounded like he’d had his breath taken away. 

“Harry. Harry, I–”

“Merry Christmas, Ron,” Harry said, as Ron stared down at his own Firebolt broomstick, complete with an entire broomstick upkeep kit and cleaning manual, as well as a new pair of dragonhide gloves and boots. 

“Mate,” Ron stressed. “You- You are insane, you–”

“I know,” Harry said with a laugh, accepting Ron’s hug immediately. “Love you too, mate.”

_Scratch, scratch, scratch._ Harry looked over to the window again. The blizzard was getting worse, why did Malfoy insist on sending the pretty owl on such long, treacherous journeys? All the way from Wiltshire?

“Oh!” Mrs Weasley said. “Another one on the pile for Harry!”

Harry smiled at Mrs Weasley as she opened the window and the owl flew all the way over to him, landing on his shoulder and dropping the note in his lap. He reached up and smoothed her head gently, wondering whether or not it would be dodgy to open it here.

“That’s alright, Mrs Weasley, it’s just a letter from a friend,” Harry said, mostly because he didn’t want anything else added to his pile. So many more things had come to him that morning that his pile outshined the others, and it made him feel slightly awful.

“Who?” Ron asked. “Hermione? She hasn’t responded to me, yet!”

“No,” Harry replied softly, turning the letter over in his hands. “Not Hermione. Sorry, can I go and open this?”

“Of course, of course,” Mrs Weasley said, ripping open another present.

Harry laughed at Ron when he frowned at him, refusing to divulge any information. He stepped over the many discarded presents and people around the room and hurried with the pretty owl. Harry was finding that he wanted to know her name. 

He made his way to the kitchen and unfolded the letter when he was alone, smiling. 

_Potter,_

_Is there? I hadn’t a clue. Whatever is on that page must be most interesting. It is funny; the things they put in those magazines. Where they get their ideas from, I have no idea._

_I’m aching to know: what is your favourite page? What is your least favourite?_

_Draco Malfoy._

Harry bit his lip. This was almost… exciting. The day was starting off exceedingly well and Harry hadn’t even finished opening his presents.

“Fuck,” he whispered with a smile, and raised his wand. “ _Accio parchment! Accio quill! Accio ink!”_

One by one, the objects came to him, the ink splashing him only a little bit as it came whooshing onto the counter in front of him. He hastily managed to wipe it off and hurried to start writing a reply of his own. It was as if he didn’t have to use his brain in order to write the words down, it flowed ever so naturally.

_Malfoy,_

_I have to admit I didn’t get to look beyond that weird sticky page, so my judgement can’t be based on the entire magazine. So far though, apart from the obvious, the third spread. With the professor, and the Slytherin student. Fuck._

_I don’t have a least favourite. I really, really don’t._

_Harry._

_P.S: What’s her name? She’s beautiful._

He tied it to the owl and let her fly out of the window once again. He hoped that Malfoy was letting her have a break because the poor little thing must have been freezing. 

“Harry?” he heard from the doorway. Hastily, he scrunched up Malfoy’s letter in his hand and shoved it in his pocket. He smiled up at Ron nervously, though he wasn’t quite sure what he had to be nervous about. It wasn’t like it was illegal for him to be sending letters to Draco Malfoy. 

“Hi,” he said.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he lied. “Just answering some mail.”

“From who?” Ron asked, pushing himself up to sit on the counter beside his parchment. “And don’t say Fleur again.”

Harry chuckled quietly. “It’s… Just someone.”

“Oh my god,” Ron said abruptly. “You’ve got a boyfriend.”

“What? No!”

“You do!” he protested. “I know it!”

“You don’t know it because I don’t! I don’t have a boyfriend! And I still like girls, you know!”

“Yeah, but,” he said with a shrug. 

“But, nothing, Ron. I don’t have a boyfriend. It’s just some friendly messages. You know, among friends.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ron huffed. “Then why don't you tell me who it is?”

“Ron,” Harry groaned with a roll of his eyes. “Listen. I’ll tell you, but–”

“Is that him again?” He interrupted, looking over at the window again. Harry frowned and followed his gaze. Surely, no? How was the damn owl back already? There is no way in hell that it could travel all the way to Malfoy Manor and back in that time.

The bird flew right in through the window and landed on Harry’s shoulder, nuzzling his face happily. Harry chuckled at her and took the note from her leg. 

Ron was looking at him expectantly. “Well?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “And if it is?”

“Open it!”

“Hm, no, I think I’ll wait.”

“Mate, I’ll open it if you don’t.”

“Will you?” Harry grinned. “I’m not sure you want to do that.”

He froze. “Why?”

“Fine. You really want to read about what two men write to one another when they’re attracted to each other?” he asked, mostly teasing, because it wasn’t like he and Malfoy were attracted to each other at all. No, no way. He’d just said that to put Ron off. 

It worked, considering he quickly backed away, said, “Right… I’ll leave you to that,” and ran back to the sitting room. 

Harry laughed and looked down at the new piece of parchment. 

_Potter,_

_You like the professor one, do you? That’s interesting. Is it the allure of the Slytherin student, do you think? Or the professor?_

_Her name is Pavo. She certainly seems to like you, she zooms off the second I hand her another piece of parchment._

_Draco Malfoy._

Harry looked to the owl on his shoulder and murmured a quiet, “Hello, Pavo. You’re very pretty,” and then got to scribbling down his reply. 

_Malfoy,_

_I envy the professor._

_Also, Pavo is a lovely name. She’s very lovely, too. How the fuck is she travelling from Ottery St Catchpole all the way to Wiltshire so quickly?_

_Harry._

“Thank you, Pavo,” he whispered to her as she took off once again with a hoot. 

Harry licked his lips and waited, now wondering how long it would take for Malfoy’s next letter to arrive and also whether it would be awfully rude of him to go and have another look at that magazine. But, alas, the Weasleys were all waiting for him in the next room, and he would feel awfully guilty if he took off just for that. 

“Harry!” Mrs Weasley called. “You’ve still got some presents on your pile, my dear!”

“Thank you, Mrs Weasley,” Harry answered, giving one last look out of the window before doing an awkward half-jog back into the living room. 

“Now, I think most of these are from admirers, so be careful,” Mr Weasley told him. “We did issue a warning to the public, but…”

“It’s fine, Mr Weasley, thank you.” Harry smiled at him. “Do we have any love potion antidote on hand?”

After opening several presents, three of which contained roses, another two containing rather emotional howlers, and another a large pouch of gold, complete with a proposal. Harry frowned at it, wishing it to be Leprechaun’s gold, and picked up his next package. 

_Harry_

_hope you have a good XMas, see you again soon!!!_

_Love Hagrid._

He read it once, then again, and again, grinning. He wished, for a moment, that he could go back to see Hagrid and wish him a happy Christmas too, in person, and wondered whether he had gotten any presents that morning. 

Harry ripped the wrapping paper off of the gift and gawked at it. An abundance of papers and photos sat in his hands, and he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, peeking out from behind another scribbled note. 

_I thought you might want some of these!!!!! took me a while to get em!_

“Shit,” Harry whispered, not caring about the use of the bad word in front of the family. 

“Oh, wow,” Ron said in awe, and he pressed his hands to his mouth, but Harry didn’t much care. He was staring down at the photos, urging himself not to start crying. 

He was there, at eleven years old, smiling brightly at the camera, with Ron and Hermione at either side of him. He was there, in the next photo, at twelve, staring up at Hagrid with a grin and then rubbing his neck because it had been too far to see, he remembered it vividly. He was there at the Yule Ball, with Parvati on his arm, and he could see Malfoy in the background, rolling his eyes at something that Pansy had said. But he was smiling at her, and Harry’s breath was eradicated, as he realised that it was around this time that Malfoy first started to experiment. 

He hastily turned to another photo. Hermione and Harry laughed together, and Harry recognised it as one of the times that Ron and Hermione weren’t talking. There was another, where he and Ron were laughing about something incredibly breathtaking, apparently, both bent double with their hands on their knees. 

Another. A photo, a beautiful photo of his mother that had been ripped down the middle. Harry realised what it was almost immediately. Lily was laughing, looking over at something out of view. There was a note that was attached to it, and Harry knew too what this was, and deduced that people must have finally looked through Snape’s belongings. 

_could ever have been friends with Gellert Grindelwald. I think her mind's going, personally!_ _  
_ _Lots of love,_

_Lily._

Harry gaped, because his mother’s handwriting still made him feel emotional. Another piece of her life, that she had touched, and that Sirius had touched as well, and he tried to get rid of the lump in his throat through coughing but it didn’t work. 

He tried not to grip the photo of her too hard but knew, with a thrill of excitement and satisfaction that it would soon be back where it had come from, before it had been ripped from the original photo, with Harry’s father and himself, as a young boy, a baby. It would be back where it belonged. 

Hot tears stung his eyes and he went to the next photo, which was of Harry once again, and he was standing beside Luna and Neville, and they were looking at Luna with soft admiration as she ranted about something that was surely important. 

Then the last, one of Harry and Hermione stood with all of the Weasley family before Fred died. Percy wasn’t there, though, and he wished that he would have had a chance to have a photo with the both of them. He looked like a part of them, though, and so did Hermione, and he felt so, so liberated and loved, and he had to wipe his eyes all of a sudden. This was so embarrassing, to break down again. Mr and Mrs Weasley surely thought him weak, fragile. He wasn’t. He was strong. 

Ron threw an arm over his shoulder and buried him in a warm hug, and then soon enough the rest of the Weasleys followed, and God, Harry thought back to the young boy he used to be. Harry Potter, who used to live in The Cupboard Under The Stairs, on Number 4, Privet Drive, Surrey, would never have been able to even imagine himself with a family like this. 

“Sorry,” Harry muttered with a sniff. “Sorry. Sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“It’s alright,” Ron, Ginny, and Mr Weasley all told him, at the same time that the others all said, almost affronted, “Don’t apologise!”

“We love you, Harry,” Mrs Weasley told him softly as everyone else pulled away, her hands cupping his face gently. 

“I love you all,” he replied earnestly. “God. Sorry.”

_Scratch, scratch, scratch._

“Oh, is that for you again, dear?” Mrs Weasley asked gently. “It’s that pretty owl again.”

“Ah,” Harry said and stood up. “Yes. Yes, that’s me.”

Mrs Weasley tapped his cheek gently before walking to open the window once again. The owl, Pavo, flew to his shoulder and nuzzled his face closely. He smiled and took the letter from her, angling his body away from Ron and opening it. 

_Potter,_

_You envy the Professor? That’s interesting to know. I wonder, is it because of the pretty Slytherin student he’s with? Would you envy him as much if it were a Ravenclaw?_

_I’m not in Wiltshire._

_Draco Malfoy._

Harry hummed. He wasn’t in Wiltshire? Then where could he be? Standing up, he fumbled his way through the family again, to the kitchen where his parchment lay waiting. He tapped his quill to his mouth again and again, almost lost in thought. 

_Malfoy,_

_Ravenclaw? I got over that house in 5th year. I know you can’t say the same._

_Where are you?_

_Harry._

The bird took it immediately and Harry bit his lip as he watched it fly away. Should he have written that? It was almost as if he was … jealous? 

Harry wasn’t jealous of Logan. What reason would he have? Harry had almost everything nowadays, apart from, like, parents. What did Logan have? Not even Malfoy anymore.

No, Harry wouldn’t be jealous of Logan, because no matter how much he had touched Malfoy, now Harry could say that he had touched Malfoy as well. The frotting against the wall was not likely to escape from Harry’s mind any time soon. And, after all, could Logan say that he and Malfoy exchanged frequent owls on a Christmas Day?

“Harry!” Ron called him from the lounge. “Letter from Andromeda is here!”

Harry hurried back to see Mrs Weasley examining the contents of the letter deeply. It hadn’t been addressed to Harry, so he didn’t really mind. Mrs Weasley was shaking her head and making noises of disapproval as she read, and Harry was beginning to feel anxious.

“What does it say?” he asked timidly.

“Oh, Harry,” Mrs Weasley said. She sighed and pushed her glasses down her nose to look at him. “She’s bringing Teddy over, but she’s said that she can’t stay. She has guests!”

“What?” Harry frowned. “Damn. She’ll be upset about that. She won’t want to be away from Teddy on Christmas.”

“I know!” Mrs Weasley exclaimed, shaking her head as she summoned her own parchment and ink. “For her to think that we wouldn’t accept her guests over at our house! I’m telling her just that, that she can bring them right over as well!”

“Do you know who it is, mum? The guests?” Ginny asked.

“Should it matter?” she replied distractedly. “Andromeda wouldn’t let anyone untrustworthy around Teddy, would she?” 

“Well, they won’t be around him if he’s coming here,” she said with a huff.

“Shush, go and make everybody a cup of tea, dear,” Mrs Weasley told her dismissively. 

“I’ll help,” Ron and Harry announced, both because neither of them wanted to be around Mrs Weasley when she was in a furious mood. 

The three of them walked into the kitchen before Mrs Weasley could get Harry to stop and open more presents. They set about with the ingredients and the many, many cups that they would need.

“So,” Ron said, sitting up on the counter and considering handing mugs to Harry and Ginny ‘helping.’ “Who do you think these mystery guests are?”

“Dunno,” Ginny hummed. “Lupin’s parents are both gone, aren’t they? Teddy doesn’t have any other relatives apart from Andromeda.”

“And me,” Harry said quietly.

“And Harry,” she confirmed.

“Well, he does,” Ron contemplated. “The rest of the Black family are his relatives.”

“The Black family are dead, Ron,” Harry told him with a bit of an edge to his voice. Sore spot. 

“Not all of them. Andromeda has a sister.”

“Ron, your mother made it her responsibility to ensure that Bellatrix—”

“Not Bellatrix, you numpty.” Ron rolled his eyes. “Jeez, I’m not that thick. I’m talking about old Cissy Malfoy.”

Harry froze at once. No. Surely not. After everything that had happened, especially between the two sisters, surely they could not comfortably cosy up for Christmas together? Had they made up? It seemed unlikely.

But he and Malfoy had made up somewhat, hadn’t they? Did that not prove that it wasn’t impossible to move past such differences? 

Regardless, if the guests that Andromeda was talking about were to do with the Malfoys, there was no way in Hell that Mrs Weasley was going to allow them over at the Burrow, especially in the presence of little Teddy. 

“Does that mean that Draco Malfoy would be there too?” Ginny pondered.

“No,” Harry disputed as he poured some milk. “No way.”

“Why not?” she said. “Teddy is Narcissa’s great-nephew. He’s Draco’s cousin. Second cousin. Cousin twice removed? Something like that.”

Harry had never thought about it like that. He’d completely forgotten that the Malfoys were related to Andromeda in the first place, let alone little Teddy. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that; aside from the other two, being related to Lucius Malfoy of all people felt like a curse.

“Your mum wouldn’t let the Malfoys over for Christmas,” Harry said. “So if it is them, I guess we’ll just have a fleeting hello to Andromeda.”

“I dunno, mate,” Ron hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve heard mum talking about them. You know, since you testified for them at their trials. She was saying about how if you believe they can be good, we can as well.” 

Ginny put down the mug she was holding. “She was talking once, to dad, about how Malfoy was just a child. That he shouldn’t have got all caught up in it. She said he was like you, Harry.”

Ron nodded. “You know how adamant she was about you not getting involved in things before you were old enough.”

Harry laughed bitterly. “I sort of wish everyone had listened to her.”

“Yeah,” Ron said quietly, kicking his legs. “Anyway. She knows how Narcissa lied to Voldemort and saved your life, too. Even if it was just for Malfoy Junior.”

“She said that a mother’s love stopped Voldemort the first time,” Ginny whispered. “And a mother’s love stopped him the second time.”

Harry took a deep breath and ceased his stirring. He couldn’t picture having to spend Christmas with the Malfoys. With Draco bloody Malfoy under the same roof as him on Christmas day, hours after Harry had _wanked_ whilst thinking about him, staring at a sexy magazine that he had sent him directly. And after the suggestive letters that they’d been sending each other throughout the morning, Harry wasn’t too sure he’d be able to keep his composure if the man stood before him.

“I don’t know if they’d even want to come here,” Ron said. “Probably too beneath them.”

Harry laughed at that, because it was true, however much he wished that it wasn’t. He could picture the snobby look on Malfoy’s face as he walked in through the front door, looking at the lounge and asking, “ _Is this all?”_

The three of them all picked up two cups each, and let the other five cups levitate into the room behind them. Everybody took their respective cups happily, Mrs Weasley seeming to have sent off her frantic letter whilst they’d been banished to the kitchen. 

Harry found himself looking towards the windows every few minutes. He was intrigued; both by the looming Andromeda’s letter, which would surely put the idea that the Malfoys would be her guests to bed, and Malfoy’s return letter, which Harry wished would come sooner rather than later. If he would reply, and tell Harry where he was, then that would confirm that he wasn’t with Andromeda and Harry’s godson as well.

He couldn’t wait to see Teddy now. The boy was more than family to Harry, but he was like a son to him. He was more than glad for the help of Andromeda, though, Harry being only a mere eighteen years old, but he felt like he could care for him by himself. He felt like he would _want to_ look after Teddy by himself, when poor Andromeda got too old or when her time came. 

The first Christmas for him, too. Harry was determined to make it the best damn first Christmas that any baby would have ever had. 

“When did you say Teddy would be over, Mrs Weasley?”

“Around twelve o’clock, dear. Enough time for presents before Christmas dinner!” Mrs Weasley said and blew on her cup of tea. “And it’s _Molly,_ dear.”

“Thank you, Mrs Weasley,” Harry said stubbornly, with a kind, teasing smile towards her.

The clock chimed ten. It was going to be a long two hours.

*

At eleven minutes past twelve in the afternoon of Christmas day, there was a hard knock on the door of the Burrow. Harry stood up immediately, and he and Mr Weasley hurried to the door to greet little Teddy and his grandmother. What they got instead was a little breathtaking.

“Oh,” Mr Weasley said abruptly, as he looked upon the image of Andromeda with her hair wholly windswept, holding little Teddy on her hip as, behind her, Draco Malfoy seemed to be carrying and levitating enough luggage for a family of ten. By his side, Narcissa Malfoy, looking like she didn’t want to be there, as if she was intruding upon something she shouldn’t be.

“Mr Weasley,” Andromeda said heavily. “Mr Potter. I’m so terribly sorry for my lateness.”

“No worries,” Harry replied softly, gazing down at the baby in her arms. “Hi, Teddy!”

Teddy squealed happily and reached out for Harry at a moment’s notice, grabbing his hands until Harry took him into his own arms and kissed him on the side of the head. 

“Hello, you,” he cooed to him. “Aren’t you just getting so big?”

Teddy grinned and grabbed his nose, knocking his glasses out of place. Harry grinned as he heard Mrs Weasley come running up behind him, squeezing Teddy’s cheeks before hurrying to give Andromeda a hug. 

“Merry Christmas!” she told her, before standing back and finally observing the other two in their presence.

“Molly,” Andromeda spoke. “I’m so sorry. I had to go and pick up my sister and my nephew, I figured I could drop Teddy off on the way. We’ll be taking our leave… I was wondering if you would like him overnight?”

“Seriously?” Harry gasped. “Yes! Please! I mean, if that’s alright with you, Mrs Weasley.”

“Of course,” Mrs Weasley said, but she looked a little confused.

“Draco,” Andromeda said softly as she turned to her nephew, and Harry looked at him properly for the first time since the four had shown up. He looked tired, yet still as alluring as he was, and Harry really didn’t know how that could be possible. Malfoy handed his aunty a case, which she took and settled down at the door. “His things are in there. Thank you.”

“You aren’t coming in?” Mrs Weasley asked. 

Andromeda blinked at her like she wasn’t expecting such a question. “My sister—”

“Is just as welcome as you are,” Mrs Weasley said, smiling kindly at Narcissa. The woman looked just as taken aback as Andromeda did. She looked towards Malfoy. “And you, Draco, of course! Come in, all of you. You’re welcome to stay for Christmas dinner if you haven’t got plans already.”

“Molly…” Andromeda said quietly. “Thank you. You are too kind.”

“Mrs Malfoy, Draco.” Mrs Weasley turned to them. “Will you care to stay?”

Malfoy looked to his mother, who hesitated, before smiling sweetly. “I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality.”

“Mother,” Malfoy said, as his mother and aunt began to enter the house. “Where do you want me to settle the luggage?”

“Oh,” Narcissa hummed, and turned to Mrs Weasley. “I’m sorry, is there anywhere…”

“Of course! Just send them upstairs, you can settle them all in Ron’s room.”

Harry snorted at that and rubbed Teddy’s arm. He looked up at Malfoy and when they locked their gaze, Harry immediately bit his lip. 

“Malfoy,” he greeted.

“Potter.”

“Why don’t I show you where to put the luggage?”

Malfoy side-eyed his relatives until he was sure they were out of the room and waited until Mr and Mrs Weasley had both patted Harry on the arm and left to the lounge until he spoke again. “Lead the way, Potter.”

Harry led Malfoy up to Ron’s bedroom, talking quietly to Teddy on the way up. He didn’t offer to help carry any of the luggage because truly, _truly,_ a family of two did _not_ need that many bags! 

“Down here, that’s fine.”

“Ugh,” Malfoy said unashamedly as he looked around at Ron’s room. “Chudley Cannons? Really? It looks as if a can of baked beans has exploded over the walls.” 

“Hey.” Harry frowned at him. “Be nice.”

“Thank you for allowing me into your… home,” he said quietly. “It’s rather domestic, isn’t it?”

“It’s more homely than a Manor with dungeons, if that’s what you’re saying,” Harry said dryly, sitting down on the bed and stroking Teddy’s hair.

“Merlin, I know,” Malfoy said, and after a prolonged moment, “My cousin adores you.”

“My Godson.” Harry smiled, sitting Teddy up on his lap, where he grabbed at Harry’s glasses, smudging them with his saliva-covered fingers. “He’s lovely, isn’t he?”

“He’s certainly… a child,” he said in response, organising the bags accordingly. 

“He’s eight months old,” Harry chuckled. “He's a baby.”

“A baby, then.”

Harry turned Teddy around in his lap, so Malfoy was facing the black-haired little baby. “Say hello, Malfoy!”

“You want me to say hello to a baby?”

“Why not?”

“He can’t exactly say hello back, can he? What on earth kind of conversation would we have?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Just say hello to him.”

Malfoy stared at him for a second, before walking towards them and bending down. “Good afternoon, Edward.”

Harry grabbed one of Teddy’s arms and waved it, making the boy giggle. 

“Hello, cousin Draco!” Harry said in a high voice, pretending to be the small boy on his lap. “You have a very pointy face, but I feel like you could be nice if you chose to be!”

Malfoy scoffed and brought an offended hand up to his jaw. “My face is not pointy.”

“I want my cousin Draco to wish me a happy Christmas,” Harry went on, bouncing Teddy on his knee as he giggled. “I think cousin Draco wants to give me a cuddle, as a present.”

“I most certainly do not want–”

“I think cousin Draco doesn’t have a choice,” Harry said sweetly and turned Teddy to the side as he leant down so that he could look at him. “Do you want to cuddle Malfoy, Teddy?”

Teddy stuck out his tongue and grabbed it with his tiny fingers, and Harry grinned, taking this to mean a definite yes. 

“Come on, Malfoy. Ever held a baby before?”

Malfoy hesitated, before admitting, “No.”

“That’s alright,” Harry told him and nudged up on the bed. “Sit down.”

“Sit… Okay.” He took a deep breath and sat himself down on the bed next to Harry. “Now what?”

“Now…” Harry placed one of his hands underneath Teddy’s bum, the other around his back and securely under his arms. “Hold him up like this. If you’re going to stay sitting down, he can rest on your lap, you just need to support his back. Okay?”

“Merlin. Okay. Yes. You’re really throwing me in the deep end here, Potter,” he said, lifting his hands to be ready.

Harry laughed. “No, throwing you in the deep end would be telling you to change a dirty nappy.”

Malfoy’s face scrunched up with disgust, but quickly contorted with concern as Harry passed the baby to him, and he held him stiffly. “Am I doing it right?”

Harry shifted a little closer to him and adjusted the position of his arms. “There we go. Relax, Malfoy, he’s not a Skrewt. He’s not going to vomit fire over you.”

“No, but he might vomit over me in general.” He grimaced, but looked down at the boy and said to him, “Hello.”

Teddy squeaked with happiness and bounced a couple of times, reaching up and grabbing onto Malfoy’s face. He backed away, out of reach, and gave a look of immense panic towards Harry.

“He's just curious about you, Malfoy. He’s curious about everything at the moment. That age, you know?”

Harry sat back to admire the sight in front of him and found himself smiling fondly. It truly was adorable. He never would have thought that Malfoy would be good with children, and despite his grievance towards having to be near one, Teddy seemed to like him. In fact, when Harry looked closer towards them, he could see several strands of Teddy’s hair turning a great platinum blond. 

“Curious, curious,” Malfoy whispered and arched an eyebrow towards Harry. “Is it a family thing, do you think?”

Harry met his eyes and licked his lips at that, and tried truly very hard not to think about the connotations and the many things that had erupted from Harry’s statement that he was _curious._ It wasn’t the time. Perhaps if they were alone, not in Ron’s room, not in the presence of a tiny baby, then…

Harry reached forwards and allowed Teddy to take hold of his finger in his hand, and start to hit his wrist with his other. He had to focus. He was taking care of a baby, here.

“Do you want to play a game with him?” Harry asked Malfoy, but his eyes remained dutifully on the baby. 

“Okay,” Malfoy replied, and his voice sounded croaky.

“He’s learnt how to play peek-a-boo,” he said, and he watched Teddy’s face light up at the mention of the game, and he frantically hit Harry’s wrist. “Yes, you have!”

“What is that?” Malfoy asked. Harry frowned at him.

“Have you never heard of the peek-a-boo thing?” Harry asked, and placed his hands over his face in demonstration. After a second or two, he opened them up, and said gleefully, “Peek-a-boo! I see you!”

Teddy squealed with delight, and Harry could tell that Malfoy was trying not to let a telltale smile sneak onto his face. He could tell that he was amused.

“Very professional, Potter.” 

“Oh, you loved it,” Harry teased.

“What exactly is the point?”

“Well, babies have no concept of object permanence,” he told him. “So when you cover your face, they think you’ve gone, and they don’t know where you’ve gone. It helps them understand that you’re there.”

“Okay…” Malfoy hummed, and a smile actually was creeping into his face now. “So, I just…”

He reached upwards and placed his hands over his face. A second later, he reopened them, and said, “Peek-a-Oh, fuck!”

Teddy had apparently not been at all prepared for Malfoy to remove his arms from around him, which he had been so comfortably leaning on. He toppled backwards, falling off of Malfoy’s lap towards the floor. Harry was on his feet quickly, but Malfoy had caught him at the hips and held him dangling upside down, his head inches from the floor. 

In a second, Teddy squealed and began to shriek with laughter. Malfoy pulled him up and hugged him, and looked at Harry with a dread. 

“I didn’t mean to do that.”

Harry pursed his lips, staring down at Teddy, then up to Malfoy again, and then back down at Teddy. “I think cousin Draco said a naughty word.”

Malfoy grimaced and covered Teddy’s ears. “He doesn’t know that!”

“Fuh!” Teddy giggled. “Cah! Fuh-cah!”

Harry glanced up towards Malfoy, who gulped, and said timidly, “Is it immoral to _obliviate_ an eight-month-old baby?”

“Ever so slightly.” Harry shook his head. “If Andromeda hears him swear, we are done for.”

“Trust me, I know. My aunt will vanish our bollocks.”

“Bo- Bo- Ucks!” Teddy laughed.

“Malfoy, please, be quiet,” Harry whispered to him, now using his own hands to cover Teddy’s ears. “He’s not even a year old! Don’t teach him to say stuff like that!”

“I’m not doing it on purpose!” Malfoy whispered back. “Oh, Merlin, we are in so much sh—”

“Ah!” Harry placed a hand over Malfoy’s mouth to stop him continuing. “Shut up!”

“Harry? You up here, mate?” Ron called from the corridor. “What are you doing?”

“In here,” Harry called back. He turned swiftly back to Malfoy. “Not a word. We will sort this. Nobody needs to know.”

Malfoy mumbled something behind Harry’s hand as Ron opened the door, and Ron stumbled as he walked in. 

“Uh,” Ron said slowly. “Hello, Malfoy.”

Harry felt Malfoy’s mouth move behind his hand and heard an indistinct mumble of, “Hmmoo, Wrshly.”

He brought back his hand and wiped it on his pyjama bottoms, and was all of a sudden extremely aware of the fact that he was, indeed, still in his pyjamas. It wasn’t like he _shouldn’t_ be in his pyjamas, not yet anyway, but next to Malfoy, who was dressed in a lovely set of robes, he couldn’t help but feel slightly underdressed. 

“Hello!” Ron said happily when Teddy turned and waved to him, reaching out to be held. Ron hurried forwards and lifted him up, and Harry frowned curiously at the dejected look on Malfoy’s face. “Andromeda wanted me to come and fetch him, it’s time for his food.”

“Ah, so she’s staying for Christmas dinner?” Harry asked.

“Yep,” Ron said happily. He looked towards Malfoy. “Means you are as well, Malfoy.”

“It seems like it. Don’t worry, there are no Slytherins to back me up on my jabs now. Potter won’t be homophobic today.”

“Good.” Ron nodded at him, looking confused about how he was meant to feel. “Good, because, you know, my brother—”

Malfoy raised one brow. “Charlie? I do hope you mean Charlie.”

He opened his mouth to respond, and closed it, gaping like a fish. 

“Ron,” Harry chuckled. “He’s joking. You are joking.”

Malfoy shrugged. Harry and Ron both clenched their jaws.

“You coming down, Harry?” 

“Er, yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.” Harry smiled. “You go on.”

Ron peered between them for a moment before nodding and walking out of the room, kicking the door shut behind him. Teddy beamed as he got carried.

“Don’t flirt with Charlie,” Harry said immediately.

“Why?”

“I never thought you’d _lower yourself_.”

He scoffed. “Potter.”

“What? They’re blood-traitors, aren’t they?” he said in a poor imitation of Malfoy.

“And you don’t think I’m a blood-traitor, after the shit that I pulled in the War?” He shook his head. “Discussion for another time. How has your Christmas day been so far?”

Harry narrowed his eyes and said, “Lovely. Yours?”

“Colourful. What’s been your favourite gift?”

“Oh, just this thing I got via owl. Don’t know who sent it. Must be pretty strange to send it straight to a family household, though.”

“Well, where else was it to be sent? It’s where you were, no? Did you expect the owl to wait until you travelled somewhere else?” He rolled his eyes. “I’m curious now. Can you show me what it was?”

“It’s in my room.”

“Really? I hadn’t a clue. I thought it would be down in your pile, in full view of the household.”

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

“Privacy.”

“We’re alone now.”

“In the room of one Ronald Weasley.”

“Fine,” Harry said with a sigh and stood up quickly. “Come on.” 

Harry led him to his bedroom, which wasn’t exactly a far journey. Once inside, Malfoy flung a _colloportus_ at the door and sat down on Harry’s bed. Harry gulped. 

“So, do you…” Malfoy looked down. “I was wondering if you wanted another session. Whilst I’m here.”

“Right,” Harry said. “We don’t have long. Do you think you’ll be able to do it this time?”

“I’ve had a while since our last session to think about all of the advice you’ve given me. My mother has been helping me with my occlumency.”

“She doesn’t know, right?”

“Oh, no. No. She’d murder me for being so irresponsible.”

“Your mother is smart.”

“I know; she saved your life,” Malfoy said quietly. “Come on. It’ll be over as soon as possible. I’ll answer any questions later, or else by owl.”

“Are you sure?” 

“As sure as I’ve been for every one of our sessions. Hurry up.”

Harry took a deep breath and whispered, holding up his wand, “ _Imperio.”_

Harry tensed again as Malfoy relaxed, his face flooding with deep content. 

“Damnit,” Harry whispered. “Stand up.”

Malfoy stood up, and Harry was momentarily stunned by the close proximity between them. He took a step back. 

“You still can’t do it,” Harry noted. 

“I still can’t do it,” Malfoy repeated.

He waited for a second, watching Malfoy’s expression closely. Then he spoke again, “Why are you here?”

“Mother and I didn’t want to be alone on Christmas, so we reached out to my Aunt Andromeda to reconcile. We were ever so surprised when she agreed, but they’ve been talking more recently. You know the rest.”

“Huh,” Harry said. “I’m glad that your family are… Yeah.”

His gaze roamed over the other’s face, and down towards his body. He had a sudden urge to shut the fuck up about family. As he gazed at the prim throat, he remembered pressing his lips to it, marking it up and having it as his own. He remembered the feeling of Malfoy’s hips pressed against his own, between him and the wall and writhing, rutting.

“Do you remember what we did?” Harry asked.

“When?”

“In one of our sessions. You kissed me. And then, what happened after that.”

“I don’t stop thinking about it,” he told him, and Harry knew that he’d kick himself for that. 

“Did you… Well, did you like it?” 

“I loved it,” he breathed. “I… More than loved it.”

Harry nodded, rubbing his arm. “Oh. Right. Would you, then… Do you want to do it again?”

“Specifically? I would like to do what we did again.”

“What else?”

“Everything,” Malfoy said. “I want to do everything with you, Potter. You have no idea. I want you to have me against every surface in this room and the rest. I want to make you feel more blissful than you’ve felt in your life because you really do deserve it. I want to repent for what I’ve done to cause you harm and I want you to help me do it.”

Harry licked his lips. “You do, do you?”

“I do. I want to help you relax when you’re feeling stressed. I want you to want to come to me when you want… anything. I’ll help. I’ll be able to help you forget.”

“You think you’re that good, huh?”

“I know I’m that good.”

And for a second, Harry had forgotten the curse that Malfoy was under, as he stepped a little closer to him and whispered, “Why don't you show me?”

Malfoy sank slowly to his knees, his gaze remaining firmly on Harry’s. He placed his palms to Harry’s thighs and slid them upwards, his thumbs nudging the ever-growing bulge in his pyjama bottoms.

“Wait!” Harry shouted, and of course, Malfoy waited. Harry stalled for a second, guiltily enjoying the view down at his feet, before dropping the spell.

“I’m sorry,” he told him, as he watched Malfoy rise from his knees. Malfoy watched him closely, his eyes focused and his lips parted.

“I’m not,” Malfoy told him, and cupped both of his cheeks, and pulled him in so wonderfully. He kissed Harry deeply, and how could he not respond almost immediately, passionately, Malfoy’s fingers threading through his hair. 

Harry’s hands found his waist and he brought him in, pressing their hips together and rushing forwards. Malfoy was swept up, stepping backwards until his legs hit the bed. Pushing him backwards, Harry crawled on top of him, biting Malfoy’s lip and aching to get him out of those fucking robes. 

Malfoy’s lips felt like a haven. His tongue licked hot into his mouth and Harry accepted it easier than a hot knife through butter; their lips separated and collided again and again like a seductive routine. Harry could feel and hear the other man’s hot breathing on his wet lips; the sounds were criminal.

Harry reached downwards, caressing Malfoy’s thigh with his palm over his robes. He used the opportunity to yank them up a little, wanting to rid of them entirely, verging on the idea of vanishing them. It wasn’t until his hand moved a little too far to the left and Malfoy released the most beautiful sound that Harry had ever heard that his patience snapped in two. He lifted his mouth away from Malfoy’s and gave him a piercing look, to which the other man’s facial expression grew absolutely irresistible - it hurt Harry that he couldn’t just ravish him right then and there. 

He ripped off those annoying fucking dress robes from Malfoy’s body with no hesitation and tipped his head back by his chin. Harry took to attacking his throat without a second thought; how could he not? He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to the skin and didn’t stop himself from resisting sucking and biting little marks onto the flesh.

He couldn’t get the image out of his head; Malfoy, just after their tumble in their other session, with red and pink marks ridden on his neck that turned purple and had to be hidden for almost two or three weeks afterwards. God, he looked so fucking good with these things littering him and he probably fucking knew it, didn’t he? 

“Potter,” he whispered. “Potter, no– No trace. Don’t leave any marks.”

“Mm,” Harry murmured in discontent. “No.”

“Potter,” Malfoy whimpered, one of his hands stretching from deep in Harry’s hair down to his back, his fingers twisted in the fabric of his pyjama top. “My - My _mother_ is downstairs!”

Harry pulled back from kissing his neck at that, frowning. “Well, if that’s not a boner-killer, I’m not sure what is.”

“Potter, we should do this,” he said. “We should. But come on, how obvious do you think it will be if I come downstairs looking like I’ve been mauled? _Again?_ ”

His hands both slid to Harry’s jaw. He pulled him up into another kiss, heated and open. “I… See… Your point,” Harry mumbled between kisses.

“They’re all going to be wondering where we are.”

“We’re not missing Mrs Weasley’s food,” Harry asserted. “But, as much as I love it, neither of us are going to go down there with—”

“Take-your-eye-out stiffies?” Malfoy chuckled. 

“Exactly!” Harry nodded. 

“Well, let me take care of you quickly, then.”

“Quickly?” He frowned. “I’m not –”

“Potter, sit on the edge of the bed.”

Harry did as he was told. He watched as Malfoy slid off of the bed onto the floor, his undershirt and boxers infuriating Harry for some random selfish reason, but his imagination needn’t travel too far. Malfoy had settled on his knees once again, his eyes so intently focused on Harry’s bulging erection, which was poking a tent in his bottoms. He slid one hand up Harry’s thigh teasingly, before taking a firm hold of the cock in front of him, and his eyes widened a bit.

“Are you not wearing pants?” he asked.

“I - No. I never wear pants with pyjamas.”

“Fuck,” Malfoy said suddenly. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ You wonderful man.”

“Thank yo– Oh– Oh! _Oh!_ ” Harry gasped as the man at his feet yanked down the front of his pyjama bottoms, exposing his cock out in the open.

It hit Harry then, that this was the first time that a man had seen his cock. Well, of course, other guys had seen his dick - he had shared, and still _was_ sharing a dorm with four other guys - and, well, there was the Quidditch changing rooms. There was also the fact of that entirely unfortunate run in that Ron had had with Harry in the shower, but really, this was the first time that a man was going to be seeing his dick in a sexual situation. And, while it was embarrassing to admit it, it was the first time that Malfoy was seeing his cock, and it was… important? Monumental? It was —

Absolutely bloody _fucking_ brilliant, is what it was, Harry thought, as Malfoy’s eyes lit up and he wrapped a hand around his bare dick. He gulped as he watched the sight in front of him, and before Malfoy could do anything else, he pushed his pyjama bottoms halfway down his legs. Harry ran his fingers through the platinum blond hair beneath him and tried not to seem too eager. Malfoy knew how to do this; he knew how to do this _well._

“Oh,” Malfoy breathed, still taking in the sight of Harry in front of him. “Potter, is there one thing about you that isn’t so damn impressive?”

“Mm,” Harry hummed, practically speechless. “You- You think so?”

“It’s so fucking infuriating,” Malfoy said and pressed the slit of his cock to his tongue. Harry’s toes curled and he gasped at the pressure and the wetness on his groin. Malfoy’s taunting and teasing eyes watched him seductively, and Harry didn’t know what he wanted but he wanted it now. The tip of his tongue swirled over the head of his dick, and then his wet, pretty lips settled over it.

He sucked, and his tongue swirled once again, and _how did he do that?_ He made it feel so fucking brilliant - it had never felt this way with Ginny, that was for sure. His tongue worked and his lips provided the perfect warmth around his dick while his hand, securely at the shaft of his cock, began to jerk backwards and forwards, as though a man would do to himself. Harry covered his mouth with one hand and the other remained firmly in the shining hair that now, slowly began to bob, up, down, up, down. His tongue remained working on the underside of Harry’s cock whilst he began to work his mouth up and down the object of his greatest interest. His hand and his mouth moved with ease in the best rhythm that Harry had ever witnessed, and soon enough he was gripping Malfoy’s hair tighter than he intended.

“Fuck,” Harry said breathlessly. “You’re so fucking hot when you do this, you know? You look like a fucking model.”

“Mmh?” Malfoy whimpered in response, the vibrations making Harry bite down on his lip. He seemed to have liked that. He brought more of Harry into his mouth and waited for a second, peering up at him as if expecting something.

“Go on,” Harry urged him. “I know you can be good for me. You want to be good, don’t you?”

Malfoy didn’t reply, to which Harry was glad, because he wouldn’t have been able to handle it if he pulled off of his cock now. Harry was panting, and he wanted badly to thrust up into Malfoy’s mouth.

“More?” Harry whispered in a plea. “More, take me more.”

Malfoy looked into his eyes with an air of something that Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on. Then, suddenly, Malfoy reached downwards and began to wank himself off, and if the sight of that didn’t make Harry’s get closer to his orgasm, then the action of Malfoy pushing the rest of Harry’s cock down his throat definitely did. Malfoy was making gorgeous noises and rumbles in his throat that vibrated up his dick, and his eyes still hadn’t left Harry’s. He was still working his tongue even though his mouth was filled to the brim, now, and his nose was right at the base of Harry’s groin, buried there. Harry couldn’t quite believe that he had managed it; when he asked for _more_ , he hadn’t quite expected _all._

The hand that was previously on Harry’s dick was now stretching behind Malfoy, beneath his underwear, and Harry just gasped when he finally realised what he was doing. Malfoy, on his knees in Harry’s bedroom, wanking himself and fingering himself all the while with a mouthful of Harry’s cock. He must be dreaming. He lifted one hand - the one that was in Malfoy’s hair remained dutifully tight - and pinched himself on the arm. He hissed in pain and gave a smile to Malfoy when he looked up at him puzzlingly. He slid both hands into Malfoy’s hair now and bit his lip as he tried to control his breathing.

Harry couldn’t exactly place which part of the entire thing it was that made it so absolutely amazing, but it felt _so fucking good._ His lips, his allure, his tongue, it was all overwhelming.

“Can I move your head?” Harry propositioned quietly. “Can I - Can I fuck your mouth?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes at him, and Harry thought with a smile that he was probably the only person who would be able to give Harry sass while in the position he was. He hummed a strong ‘ _Mhm’_ and Harry saw the muscles in his bicep strain as he did something with his fingers that made him twitch. Harry firmed his grip as Malfoy relaxed his jaw, and he began to roll his hips slowly into Malfoy’s mouth. 

Malfoy made a small grunt and Harry paused, but he looked up at him with eager eyes that Harry couldn’t help but admire. He thrust his hips forwards once again and let out a small moan of his own, before starting to gain a rhythm with his hips. 

He fucked Malfoy’s mouth wetly and urgently, wishing that he wasn’t so conscious of the time; wishing that they had more time here. There was a lingering concern in the back of his mind about what would happen after this, back at school. He didn’t want to pretend like this didn’t happen again - he didn’t think that he could do that. 

When he felt his climax drawing nearer, because the warmth of Malfoy’s mouth was irresistibly overwhelming, no matter how embarrassing that might be, he pulled himself out of the other man’s mouth. He looked up at Harry, almost disappointed, and yet nevertheless Harry saw him continue to move his hands.

“Sorry…” Harry whispered to him. “I was going to cum.”

“Do it,” Malfoy told him. “Do it on my face.”

“Oh… Are you sure?”

“I’m extremely sure, Potter.”

Harry took a deep breath and grasped his cock, stroking it slowly, the saliva leftover from Malfoy’s mouth helping his grip. He squeezed it and gave a whimper, using Malfoy’s face as his ammunition. Truly, he looked a picture; lips deep pink and swollen and his hair a tousled mess. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were lidded, panting coming from his lips as he continued to jerk himself. They were in sequence now, and Harry found that Malfoy’s eyes looked gorgeous when glazed over. 

He also remembered, briefly, Malfoy telling him that he preferred to have cum over his face instead of inside of his mouth. He couldn’t fault him, really, he couldn’t imagine that it would taste too nice. And now that he really thought about it, seeing the man beneath him with his essence over his face would be more than alluring.

When he did finally finish, it was just after Malfoy had done so first, and Harry couldn’t help but relish in that fact. He had to stop himself from falling backwards onto the bed because he wanted badly to keep staring at the man beneath him. The trickle was over his right cheek, reaching his nose and dripping down over his lips. Harry has a sudden impulse to kiss it off of him, but he didn’t get the chance, as Malfoy licked it into his mouth, still staring seductively into Harry’s eyes. Perhaps it did taste nice, then?

He reached down and placed his fingers underneath Malfoy’s chin, pulling him upwards and placing a chaste kiss onto his lips. He could taste himself somewhat, but it didn’t deter him. 

“I won,” he whispered against his mouth. “I beat you.”

Malfoy huffed a laugh and shook his head. “I’ll beat you next time,” he told him, and Harry’s heart lurched with excitement. So, there would be a next time?

“Get your robes back on,” he told him, flicking a wordless _scourgify_ to the remnants of their mess. He pulled off his pyjamas and hurried to pull on some smarter clothes. He wasn’t going to wear robes down there; hated the things, no matter how normal they were in wizarding culture. So, instead, he pulled on a pair of trousers and a smart button-up, hopping on one leg while Malfoy snorted at him.

“What will we say to them?”

“I was showing you around, or something and the ghoul started to throw things.” Harry shrugged. “It often does that.”

“ _Ghoul?_ ” Malfoy blanched. “There’s a ghoul here? Why don’t you get rid of it?”

“It’s lived here for ages,” he told him. “Pretty damn useful, too. The family pretended that it was Ron when we— er, last year. They said that he wasn’t going back to Hogwarts because of spattergroit, and when people came to check, they thought the ghoul was Ron. Looks like him too, when you stick a ginger wig on its head.”

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment, with a hint of something Harry couldn’t quite place, before he told him, “You come up with the most queer ideas, Potter.”

“Hah. Yeah, I do,” he sniggered, raising an eyebrow at Malfoy for his choice of words, who just rolled his eyes in turn. “It was Ron’s idea, anyway.”

This seemed to shock him a little bit. “Really? But it’s so…”

“If you say smart, I’ll hit you. He is capable of being smart. He’d probably end you in chess.”

“He absolutely would not,” Malfoy persisted as they exited the bedroom, having flattened out his hair and triple-checked for love bites.

“Have a game with him then, if you’re so adamant.”

“I just might.”

“His chess skills saved my life in our first year, you know,” Harry said as they trotted down the stairs. 

Even though Harry was behind him, he could practically sense Malfoy rolling his eyes. “Oh, har, har. Honestly, Potter, nobody believes those rumours anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Harry frowned. “I’m not joking. We had to play a life-size version of wizard’s chess. It was part of Dumbledore’s protection of the Philosopher’s Stone. McGonagall’s idea. He won the game for us by sacrificing himself, and that’s how I got through to defeat Voldemort and Quirrell. Hermione helped too, of course, on the other ones…”

Malfoy stopped dead on the step he was on and turned around to face him. “That didn’t actually happen, did it?”

“Er, yeah.” He nodded slowly. “Voldemort wanted to use the Stone to get eternal life, or whatever, but he couldn’t get it because of the last of Dumbledore’s defences.”

“And… What was that?” he asked timidly.

“The Mirror of Erised,” he told him. “If you really wanted the Stone, but didn’t want to use it, it would show you how to get it. It was really clever. Showed up in my pocket.”

“Dumbledore’s last defence was a mirror?”

“Well, it was a very special mirror,” Harry said defensively. “It showed you your heart’s true desire. Nobody else could see what you saw. I saw my parents, and the rest of my family.”

“I thought you saw the Stone?”

“Well - No, I saw my family first, and then the Stone.”

“You got past the sacrificial wizard’s chess twice?”

“Wh– No! No, it was in a spare classroom when I first saw it. I went back to look at it for ages, but then Dumbledore told me it wasn’t healthy, and that it was going to be moved. He moved it to the defending place, then. I don’t think it’s still there, but I’m not sure…”

“It would be foolish for it to be there, still,” Malfoy hummed. “I wouldn’t mind seeing it, though.”

“It’s not a good thing to go looking for.”

“But just to see… I’d like to know what my deepest desire is. Do you think yours would have changed?”

“No. I still want my parents back.”

“But you said yours changed to the Stone.”

“Wh– No, that was different! It was the place, and the time, I _needed_ that Stone more than anything then!”

“Yes, whatever you say. Sounds like hogwash to me. Next, you’ll be telling me that all that business about you fighting a Basilisk was real.”

“It was.”

“Potter, you can tell me a lot of things, but that’s completely irrational.”

“I’m telling the truth!” 

They walked, finally, to the living area, where everybody was looking towards their little debate. 

“Sorry,” Harry said. “I was showing Malfoy around. The ghoul got a bit rowdy.”

Mrs Weasley huffed, her hands on her hips, and said, “I knew he wasn’t happy with the new wallpaper!”

“Ron, Gin,’” Harry said, turning to his friends. “Malfoy doesn’t believe me, about what happened in second year.”

“I’m sorry, I find it unbelievable that there was a living Basilisk beneath Hogwarts for Merlin knows how long,” Malfoy said, but looked a bit shyer now that he was in front of all of these people. 

“I would agree,” Ron said absentmindedly. “But, you know, Voldemort.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Narcissa clutch her purse tightly. 

“Does tend to do the unbelievable, doesn’t he?” Harry added half-heartedly. 

“So do you, though,” Bill spoke up. “Boy Who Lived, and Lived, and Lived, and Lived, etcetera.”

Mr Weasley, Bill, Charlie and George raised their glasses just so that they could have another swig of their wine, it seemed. 

“Salazar,” Malfoy whispered. Only Harry heard him. “You defeated the Dark Lord _four_ times, then?”

“Well…” Harry turned to him with a smirk. “If you want to be technical, no. There was when I was a baby, I hate counting that, but, oh well. Baby, first year, second year, fourth year in the graveyard…” A pang hurt his heart, for a moment. “Then, when they were taking me to a safe place, my wand defeated him mid-air. Then… The final duel.” 

“Six times,” Malfoy repeated bleakly. “Six times and he still thought it was down to chance.” He met his eye, and he looked at him with something that closely resembled admiration. “That’s amazing.”

“It wasn’t, really…”

“Potter,” he said sternly, and his voice had risen now. “You can’t possibly undermine what you’ve done. It’s brilliant.”

Harry felt his cheeks heat and he thought himself foolish, now, to be embarrassed by such a thing coming out of the other man’s mouth, especially considering what he had so easily used it for not ten minutes ago. 

“I second that,” Andromeda said into the quiet, and Malfoy must have realised that people had been listening to what he was saying. 

“And I.” Narcissa raised her glass of wine. Harry bowed his head at her slowly in respect and greeting, and she did the same.

*

“Harry, dear, could you pass me the parsnips?”

“Here you are, Mrs Weasley.”

“Thank you, dear.” She smiled at him over the table, taking the bowl that Harry had levitated over. She leant forwards so that Malfoy was in her view, who was sitting opposite Harry. “So, Draco, what do you plan on doing after your exams?”

Malfoy swallowed a mouthful of whatever it was he was eating and placed down his knife and fork. Clearly, he was well acquainted with table manners, Harry thought to himself. Harry was as well, he could recognise it; it wasn’t to the extent of Malfoy and his mother, but if the Dursley’s had ever caught him slacking he would have had a slap.

“I think I would like to become a Potions Master,” he told her politely. “It certainly seems a beneficial career; and not just for myself.”

“Oh, that’s lovely, dear. Have another helping of the pigs in blankets, won’t you? Far too skinny…”

“I — Of course, thank you, Mrs Weasley.”

“You’re really good at potions,” Harry said, not thinking. “I’ve seen you. You’re really good.”

Malfoy, if not a little taken aback, looked rather red and flattered. “Thank you, Potter,” he said, and there was a glint in his eye as he spoke Harry’s name.

“Percy,” he heard Mr Weasley say. “How is Audrey doing now?”

“Oh. She’s doing quite well.” Percy nodded. “The annulment proceedings are to take place in two weeks.”

“And you’re doing alright?” Mr Weasley asked gently. Harry watched Percy smile sadly and went back to his food.

Ron, on Harry’s right, was going back for still more food. “So, failing relationships all around, is it?” He eyed Percy, and then Ginny, then to Harry. Harry laughed.

“Two.”

“We need some love in the air, eh, mum?” Ron nodded at her. “I was wondering whether you could show me where I could get a ring from—”

“Ron, you’re eighteen,” Harry blanched.

“Absolutely not!” Mrs Weasley shook her head. “I thought we all agreed on no marriages under twenty-one!”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t get engaged,” Ron grumbled and went back to cutting up another Yorkshire pudding. 

“Ron, you’ve only been with her for about a year,” George said through a mouthful of something orange. 

“Yeah, and?”

“It feels like more than one year, for some reason.” Harry smirked. “They’ve been tiptoeing around it since like, third year.”

“It is rather romantic,” Andromeda spoke. “Young love, hm, Molly?”

Mrs Weasley gave a warm smile. “I remember those days. Narcissa, how did you meet, um, your husband?”

Harry saw Malfoy tense in front of him. For some inexplicable reason, he felt like he wanted to grab his hand and make sure he was okay. 

Narcissa handled it more smoothly; she smiled and simply said, “We were betrothed, from a young age.”

“Ah.” Mrs Weasley nodded along. 

“I was originally supposed to be betrothed to somebody else… However, I loved Lucius. And the original set up was… Less than satisfactory, if not the slightest bit disturbing.”

“May I ask who?”

“My… cousin,” she said slowly. “Sirius, I believe.”

Another poke at Harry’s chest, like fire piercing his heart. That was wrong, that was so, so wrong. For once in his life, he was actually glad that Lucius Malfoy existed. 

“Oh,” he said quietly.

“Of course, his behaviour put the family off; especially my parents. Nobody could control him. And his… interests were somewhere else entirely, there was no way we would be able to produce an heir.”

Harry frowned, supposing that he’d heard or understood that wrong. Surely… 

It was Charlie who asked, “He was gay?”

“Yes. He hid it until our betrothal ceremony and then announced it. His parents were furious. He couldn’t return to Hogwarts for a month because of the… Sorry, I’m terribly sorry. This isn’t a conversation for the dining table.”

“That’s alright,” Mrs Weasley told her kindly, though Harry could tell that she agreed. When Harry was drawing his eyes away, he saw Charlie catch his eye and raise his eyebrows. Harry gulped, smiled, and went back to eating.

Harry was just thinking about the new revelations when he felt something on his leg. He started at first, worried, and then he saw the deep stare that Malfoy was giving him across the table, and the thing on his leg (Malfoy’s foot, he realised) slid further up his calf. Harry blinked at him and felt his cheeks fill with colour.

“Draco, what about you?” Mr Weasley asked. “Any girls tickling your fancy?”

Ron snorted next to him, and Harry stamped harshly on his foot. When Ron looked to him with betrayal in his eyes, Harry tilted his head at Narcissa, hoping he understood. He did, and went back to his food.

“I’m afraid not,” Malfoy replied, and his shoe gently slid to Harry’s thigh. Harry cleared his throat subtly and tucked his chair in further under the table. “I was to be betrothed, but with father gone, I no longer have to.” He turned to his mother and smiled. “Thank you again.”

“I think we can all find that marriages must be built on love and not profit.”

“I agree,” Ginny said boldly. “If anyone is wondering, by the way, I’m in a relationship.”

“Again?” George teased her but smiled warmly when she turned to him.

“With who, darling?” Mrs Weasley asked eagerly. 

“Er, right,” she said, and bit her lip before answering. “I’m kind of in a relationship with Luna. Lovegood. Luna Lovegood.”

The sound of cutlery suddenly ceased and Harry felt sure, for a moment, that this was rather ironic. The two of them ending up queer, he thought, that couldn’t be a coincidence. 

“You’re gay as well?” Ron asked, the first to speak. “Blimey. Well, as long as you’re happy, and she doesn’t step on your Nargaluffs, or whatever.”

Ginny smiled at him and turned to Harry, who simply said, “Things all just made a bit more sense.” There was a laugh around the table, including a silent one from Malfoy. 

Mrs Weasley turned to her and squeezed her in a tight hug. “I’m so happy you could tell us, sweetheart!”

“Whoa, mum, hugs later, yeah? I’m stuffed,” she joked, but she had a delighted glow about her as the rest of her family told her that they were happy for her.

“Another one recruited,” Charlie teased. “Who is next? Bill?”

Bill snorted and put his arm around Fleur. “Yeah, right.”

“Oh, come on, now. You always looked at Barnaby a bit too long.”

“No, Charlie, that was you.” 

“Who is Barnaby?” Mrs Weasley asked, clearly hoping that Charlie also had a new relationship he’d like to share with the class.

“Barnaby Lee. You remember him, mum.”

“Oh,” Percy said suddenly. “I remember him. Part of your little Vault Exhibition Group, wasn’t he?”

Harry had the feeling that he knew less about Bill and Charlie’s lives than he thought. He looked at Charlie with a confused frown, because he did seem to be fawning over this Barnaby a little bit. And what on earth did Percy mean by the Vault Exhibition Group?

Malfoy began to rub Harry’s thigh, smoothing it up and down under the table, bringing Harry back to reality. He gripped his fork still more tightly and pushed up his glasses as he glanced towards Malfoy, who was gazing at him in a way that dangerously reminded Harry of their previous activities. 

“Fuh…” Harry beard Teddy mumble from his high chair. His eyes widened and he saw Malfoy sit up straight in his chair. Harry felt his leg fall. 

“Mrs Malfoy,” Harry said slowly, attempting to heighten the volume of the table. “Could you tell me more about what Sirius was like as a child? If you don’t mind.”

“Oh,” she said, a little shocked. She nodded. “Of course, Mr Potter. He was certainly a charming young troublemaker if anything. I remember him flirting with McGonagall whenever he got into trouble.”

Harry stifled a laugh at the thought of what McGonagall would have said to that. 

“He, Lupin, Pettigrew and your father were all troublemakers. Everybody pretended that their pranks were all annoying, but… They were rather amusing when they weren’t directed only at Slytherin house.”

“Huh,” Harry said.

“You have to understand that most of the Slytherin students - or their families - were being enrolled very slowly to the Death Eaters. The air was tense for everybody. The… They called themselves the Marauders. The Marauders brought spirits up, amongst the Light side, at least. Though I can’t pretend like I enjoyed the practical jokes. How on earth they managed to get itching powder into the Slytherin _girls’_ beds, I will never know.”

Harry smiled at that. It did actually sound rather funny, if he was honest. He could picture his father, Lupin, and Sirius (he chose to ignore Pettigrew) huddled around, trying to think of the best pranks to cheer everybody up in such a dire time, doing checklists, brainstorming ways to cause the most disruption. It dawned on him why Fred and George must have been the ones to find the map after they’d left. They reminded him of Fred and George.

“Fuh... Fuh-cah! Fuh-cah! Fuck!” Teddy exclaimed, and Harry’s happy thoughts tumbled away at the look on Andromeda’s face. 

*

“Do we have Veritaserum?” Andromeda asked, giving a scrutinising look towards Ron. Unlike Harry, Ron had a kind of reputation for a smutty mouth and was therefore instantly the prime suspect, also considering that he’d been the one to carry baby Teddy down. 

Malfoy had not yet been questioned, though he looked as though he was going to be sick. Harry thought it was reasonable, considering the thunderous look that Andromeda was wearing upon her face. 

“No, we don’t,” Mrs Weasley said shortly, as if she didn’t want to entertain the idea, but needed to know the culprit just as much as Andromeda did. She gazed around at the table, like a dog sniffing out its prey. 

“Fuck!” Teddy said happily.

Malfoy’s fist clenched on the table. Mrs Malfoy glanced towards him with narrowed eyes, and Harry couldn’t help but feel as if she already knew. A woman’s intuition, perhaps. A mother’s intuition?

“It wasn’t me!” Ron exclaimed, holding up his hands. “You know I wouldn’t say that around Teddy, mum!”

“It may have been a mistake?” she said, trying to coax an answer out.

“It wasn’t me,” he persisted.

“It was somebody here!”

“Well, how do you know it wasn’t dad?” Ron pointed towards an unsuspecting Mr Weasley, who frowned in surprise. 

“Come now, you know it wasn’t me–”

“It was me,” Harry said abruptly to the table. “I accidentally swore in front of him earlier on. I’m

sorry, Andromeda, really.”

He didn’t look at Malfoy but he could tell that he was being stared at with more intensity by him than by any of the others. He gulped under Andromeda’s stare but held his ground. 

“It was a mistake. Really.”

He watched as her face softened. She must have realised that Harry would never have intentionally done that to undoubtedly one of the best people in his life, and she nodded. “That’s alright. Nothing we can’t teach him is wrong.”

Malfoy tensed again, out of the corner of Harry’s eye. Narcissa placed a hand over her son’s and whispered something in his ear that Harry couldn’t hear. 

They ate for another awkward hour before Andromeda announced that they had to be on their way if they wanted to be home before dark. Malfoy had peered at Harry mystifyingly through his eyelashes when they had both reached for the same dish to take back to the kitchen, and Harry had felt inexplicably warm. 

“... New Years!” Harry heard Mrs Weasley saying when he walked back to the living room to clear up the empty mugs. 

“We have received more than enough hospitality from you…” Narcissa replied courteously.

“Don’t be silly, it’ll be a large gathering. Come on, yourself and Draco must be here!”

“We’ll see. Thank you ever so much, Molly.”

“That’s alright, dear. Now, about Lucius…”

Harry’s breath caught in his chest and he stopped listening. Gathering up the rest of the mugs, he hurried back to the kitchen to drop them into the sink, the idea of Malfoy at their New Year’s Eve party almost absurd. It had barely sunk in that they had shared Christmas together. 

And he couldn’t help but think about when the clock would strike midnight; Ron and Hermione kissing; George and Angelina kissing; Mr and Mrs Weasley; Bill and Fleur; Ginny and Luna; God knows how many others around him. It would be awkward, standing there surrounded by couples, him by himself. But with Malfoy there… Would Malfoy be disgusted if he kissed him at midnight? Would Malfoy expect Harry to kiss him?

Of course not; his mother and aunt were going to be there. And besides, that was a romantic gesture. As far as Harry was concerned, there was nothing romantic going on between him and Malfoy. 

Nothing at all.

  
  



	4. Nineteen-Ninety-Nine

_ It’s going to be 1999 in six hours _ , Harry thought to himself with shock as he opened the door to even more guests and ushered them through to the garden. The Burrow was decorated beautifully, with hanging lights and sparkling fairies. He was more than ready for all of the guests to just have arrived, already, because the ‘children’ (for lack of a better term) were on shifts for welcoming the guests.

It had been an odd couple of days since Christmas. Harry had spent most of it in his bedroom, if he was honest, and he would have felt guilty about it if it wasn’t what everybody else was doing as well. He didn’t see Ron for about two days at one point. Mrs Weasley was always preparing food, but most of the time it was a pop down and take it back to your room sort of deal. Harry didn’t mind. It gave him a lot more time to think.

Mainly, he didn’t stop thinking. His mind was constantly swarmed by the images of that afternoon, of Malfoy’s pretty blond hair caught in Harry’s dark fingers, of his pink lips wrapped around his dick — It gave him horrible ideas, ideas that left him even more achingly hard than before, of what he would like to do to him if he got him alone again.

It’s not like it was something that he could talk about with anyone. Sure, he had Ron, Ron knew that he wasn’t straight, but he hated Malfoy, didn’t he? Hermione knew, but she wasn’t there. His only other option was Charlie, and God knows what Harry would say to him. He wasn’t even really sure what he would say to anyone if he had the chance to —  _ hi, sorry to bother you, but I can’t stop thinking about this guy who we all despise? _

He hadn’t been able to put down that magazine, either. It was like he had discovered something of a haven in those pages, and he found it hard to stop looking at it even when his dick had been rubbed raw; when even his impressive eighteen-year-old libido had had quite enough for one day. Charlie had even walked in on him looking at it once, when he was letting Harry know that tea was ready downstairs. Harry was just thankful that it had been cold enough of a day that he had the covers pulled up over himself, but from then on he had made sure to triple check that he’d performed the appropriate charms.

“Hey, good evening,” Harry said politely to an old couple he didn’t recognise, but who gripped his hand tightly and each planted kisses on both of his cheeks. “Just straight through to the garden, thanks.”

He leant against the wall and tried feebly to rub the lipstick marks off of his face. That must have been the eleventh couple to hold his hand in the past hour - he could only wish that they all knew to wash their hands regularly. 

His mind wandered. There were so many people here already - it was an open invite, really, and everybody in the Wizarding World had been over the moon when they’d discovered this fact. Harry wasn’t stupid, he knew that most people there were coming so that they could meet him, but it felt selfish to admit it to himself. 

But despite the people piling and piling up on their doorstep every two minutes (it really was lucky they had such a big field around their house), there were still a couple of people missing. Namely, which Harry was one-hundred-per cent not focusing on, the Malfoys.

It wasn’t as if Harry was waiting for Malfoy to show up; that would be ridiculous. He was equally as on edge about the fact that Hermione hadn’t yet arrived, after all, although that could all be down to the fact that her parents may have refused to take a portkey, or floo, and instead decided to drive all the way there. He was looking forward to seeing her, more so than he would have thought he would, but not as much as he knew Ron was. Harry didn’t want to think about the things that he’d heard in the middle of several nights to let him know that.

Maybe that was it, Harry thought, maybe he was just looking for Malfoy like Ron was looking for Hermione. 

Hm.

“Oh, hello, Luna,” Harry said happily when he’d opened the door to her. He gave an awkward glance up towards Xenophilius. “Good evening.”

“Good evening, Harry!” Luna replied cheerfully. She was wearing a bright yellow and purple dress with white stars stuck onto the collar and the hem of the skirt. While she looked as batty as usual, she still seemed to appear rather fetching. Her father was dressed to match, with robes mainly purple with a bright yellow accent to it, the stars on his a dark grey. “What a wonderful night for the end of the year, don’t you think?”

“Yes, of course,” Harry said with a nod, and he stood aside to allow them in. “The snow has cleared up a bit, at least.”

“I mean the stars, Harry!” she told him. “The Pollux star is particularly bright tonight, did you notice?”

“I… Can't say I did, Luna. Sorry.”

“That’s alright. What do you think it means, dad?” 

Xenophilius frowned towards the doorway. “Luck for those close, tonight.”

“Let us hope, yes, Harry?” Luna smiled towards him, and patted his cheek. “Your cheek is red, by the way. I do hope it’s not blood.”

Harry rubbed his cheek again as the two of them walked away and decided it was best not to dwell on anything the two of them said. He could picture Hermione’s face now, if she’d heard it, and imagine her rant about how the stars don’t  _ actually _ affect anything that happens on earth. He wondered whether or not Malfoy would believe in that kind of stuff. 

“Alright, mate?” Ron asked as he approached him. “She still not here yet?” Harry shrugged and shook his head. Ron deflated. “Oh… Well, she’s probably just held up. People are already breaking out the alcohol, mind.”

“Oh?” Harry asked, now intrigued. “Do you think your mum will, you know, let us get hammered?”

“Can’t exactly stop us, can she? Even Ginny is of age now!”

“I wonder if Andromeda will be drinking if she’s bringing Teddy?”

“Oh, did mum not tell you?” Ron said, with a slight frown. “She’s not coming. Said it wasn’t a good environment for Teddy to be in, and she couldn’t find anyone who wasn’t coming here to mind him.”

A spark of hope shot through Harry. “You think that means the Malfoys will be here?”

“I guess so. Mum said that Narcissa agreed to come, anyway.”

He tried not to seem too eager – why on earth would he be eager anyway? “Great,” he said. 

Tonight would be the first night that Harry would be drinking solely with the purpose of getting drunk and having fun. He’d heard stories of what it was like, to get drunk, and he was frankly excited, if not a little nervous. Lost inhibitions? Acting on instincts? That just sounded like every day to him. But the things that followed? He just hoped that Mrs Weasley was well-versed in hangover cures.

He jumped when he heard another knock on the door, short and polite. Opening it, he and Ron barely had time to grin at their best friend/girlfriend when confusion overrode them. Standing next to Hermione and her parents was Malfoy and Mrs Malfoy, who seemed to be caught in a conversation with Hermione’s mother and father. Hermione and Malfoy stood side by side, Malfoy’s cheeks tinted slightly pink and Hermione with a smirk plastered on her face. 

Their parents seemed to be wrapped in conversation about their opposite worlds. Mrs Malfoy looked in awe at the things that Mr and Mrs Granger were telling her; he thought he heard something about root canals, before Hermione bounded forwards and wrapped Ron and Harry in a tight, three-way hug. Harry felt himself grin and wrap his arms around in return, then stepped away quickly before the other two gave each other a long kiss.

Harry tore his eyes away quickly from the awkward sight and found them laid upon Malfoy, who was apparently already looking at him. Harry nodded his acknowledgement.

“I hope you’re not waiting for a greeting like that, Potter,” Malfoy teased, but his eyes lingered for too long of a moment on Harry’s lips. 

“Oh, please,” Harry said quietly. “In front of your mother?”

“We seriously need to stop talking about my mother,” Malfoy replied. Harry eyed him for a moment before grinning broadly at the adults behind.

“Hi! Good evening,” Harry said happily, holding out his hand to the Grangers. “I don’t think we’ve properly introduced ourselves? I’m Harry Potter.”

Narcissa looked to him as if he was mad for trying to introduce himself in a world where everyone surely knew his name, but the Grangers both gasped and nodded, Mrs Granger taking his hand first.

“Of course! Oh, we’ve heard so much about you, Harry, so much! Thank you for looking out for our daughter all these years.”

“More like our daughter looking out for him, right?” Mr Granger chuckled, taking Harry’s hand in another firm grip.

“Oh, definitely, Mr Granger.” Harry nodded. 

“Hey, no, none of that! Call me Hugo.”

“And call me Jean,” Mrs Granger said. Harry smiled.

“Of course. Can I mention again how brilliant your daughter is?”

“Of course! But we have the entire night to talk about it! We brought champagne!” Hugo grinned, his shiny white teeth glimmering like the large green bottle of Krug he held up. 

Harry pointed out where they had to go and Hermione and Ron showed them the way, Hermione telling him she’d be back as soon as possible. Ron looked over the moon, if not a little embarrassed that they had just done that in front of her parents. 

He turned back to Malfoy and Narcissa. “Good to see you both, as well.” 

“And yourself, Mr Potter.” Narcissa smiled. “I must say, those muggles do lead interesting lives. Drilling into teeth…”

“It’s a really well-respected job in the muggle world,” Harry told them. “They earn quite a bit.”

Narcissa nodded interestedly and Malfoy shuddered. “Having to peer into people’s dirty mouths for a living? I would be sick.”

Harry bit his lip as his mouth threatened a smile and he stood aside for them. “Just through there, you’ll find the garden. Thank you for coming,” he added. 

“I’ll see you later on,” Malfoy told him with a lingering look. Harry didn’t even realise that he was holding his breath until he was sure that the Malfoys had walked away.

*

It was now three hours to 1999, Harry thought. He had finally been able to enjoy himself; all of the guests were here and if some arrived late, they should just navigate their way by the noise. Harry had shaken more hands than he thought was possible for one night. He was now on his fifth glass of champagne, which he found was a little fancy for him, but he figured it was a semi-fancy occasion. Whenever people caught sight of an empty hand it was almost immediately followed up with “Oh! Mr Potter! Let me get you a drink!”

He wasn’t complaining. He now had a happy little buzz in his head and his chest felt warm, and he couldn’t seem to stop smiling at whoever caught his eye; several young women included, who couldn’t seem to stop staring at him. Harry had found himself eyeing a couple of young men there, as well, all of whom had decided to wear muggle suits as opposed to traditional robes, so that their arses just looked delightful. There was the wonderful matter that more and more of the wizards and witches of today had started to dress more like muggles; whether to eagerly try and prove their passion against exclusion or muggle hatred, or just because they liked the fashion, Harry wasn’t sure. But what he did know was that it meant tighter fitted clothes for both men and women, and who was Harry to deny short skirts and low necklines? Or tight trousers and form-fitting shirts? 

He eyed another impressive cleavage before downing the rest of his glass and placing it down on the nearest table. Within seconds, two sets of feet appeared before him. One set wore glimmering, pale pink high heels, and the other wore a nice set of black Oxford shoes. The legs connected to the high heels were slender and shaved, while the ones connected to the Oxfords were accompanied by a pair of jet black fitted trousers. As Harry’s eyes trailed upwards, they glanced slim waists, a well-fitted pair of trousers and a full, on display bust. His mind was already too distracted by the time he reached the faces.

A pair of blonde (what looked like) siblings stood before Harry, both wearing smiles on their faces as fringes swayed in the light breeze. Both of them had lips of a nice dusty colour, and freckles plastered beneath their green eyes. 

“Good evening,” Harry said to them. 

“Good evening,” they each said back. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the man said smoothly. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Oh?” Harry replied with a giddy smile. 

“It’s amazing,” the woman said. “We’re – uh – muggles, you see? We’re not like you.”

Harry took a good look at her. Her sandy hair was put up in a nice hairdo that left little strands of it dangling down around her face. He wasn’t really all that focused on her face, though, if he was truly honest. Her dress really was incredibly low-cut. 

“Would you mind showing us some magic?” the man asked, and Harry nodded dumbly. Drawing his wand, he waved it quickly and mumbled, “ _ Avis.” _

Birds fluttered out of Harry’s wand and tweeted happily into the air. The siblings looked simply amazed, their faces lit with awe as they watched the little birds fly off and away.

“That was brilliant!” the woman said, bouncing as she clapped her hands and making Harry lick his lips. 

“Truly,” the man said, placing a hand on Harry’s forearm and making him step a little closer. “My name is Jason.”

Harry nodded at him and let his mouth hang low for a second. He turned to the woman.

“Amy,” she said kindly, holding out a hand. Harry took it and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles.

“And not one for me?” Jason joked, but Harry chuckled and took his hand to kiss it as well. 

“Let us get you a drink!” Amy announced, looking slightly irritated as Harry rose back to a full stance. 

“I should probably go and have some water, actually,” Harry told her. “I’ll be right back, you two, okay?”

They nodded, and as Harry turned around, he could hear them begin to bicker behind him. He didn’t have time to wonder what it was about, because through the window to the kitchen, he could see Malfoy, and he made to start walking faster immediately. He was talking to somebody, it looked like, but Harry couldn’t quite work out who…

He slowed down as he approached the door and opened it a little bit, to let them know that he was there. Malfoy stood with a flute of champagne and a sort of glow about him. To his left, Luna stood with Ginny’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, and they were all coming down from a hearty laugh.

“Hello,” Harry said to the three of them as he walked in. 

“Hello, Harry,” Luna said brightly as she saw him, and she was holding a large container filled with a sparkly purple liquid. “We were just talking about you!”

“Oh, you were?” Harry asked, his interest now piquing. He looked at Ginny with a raised eyebrow. “Do I want to know?”

“It was just about your generosity,” Ginny told him, rolling her eyes. “Your present you got me for Christmas.”

“And mine!” Luna added happily. “Thanks again for everything. I’m sure we’ll be able to recreate the bust of Rowena Ravenclaw again, now.”

Harry had to hold back a snort at the word ‘bust’ and turned to fill himself a glass full of water.

“Did Harry get you anything, Draco?” Luna asked kindly. 

Harry felt a hit of guilt when Malfoy looked at him incriminatingly, but then hummed and said, “That depends.” 

“On what?” Ginny asked. 

Malfoy’s gaze settled to something more teasing, and Harry could only imagine what he was thinking; whether or not what they did on Christmas day counted as a gift. 

“Maybe he has something to give me now, and just forgot on Christmas day?” Malfoy suggested. 

“Maybe,” Harry said in return. “Why am I drinking water?”

“I don’t know, have some Firewhisky!” Ginny exclaimed, jumping up and turning back to the counter. “I’m going to try and smuggle some back to Hogwarts when we go back. Don’t tell mum.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Harry grinned and poured the water out of his glass, bounding forwards and holding the glass out for Ginny to fill.

“Are you mixing drinks?” Malfoy asked with a scoff. “You’ve been drinking champagne all night.”

“Keeping tabs on me, Malfoy?” he asked playfully, his eyes firmly on the liquid pouring into his cup. “It’s a night for losing yourself. Loosen up a bit, will you? I’m sure Mummy won’t mind.”

“I’m sure Mummy will,” Malfoy mocked. “If I completely lose control, I’m sure to make a fool of myself.”

“So what?” Ginny chuckled. “You’re eighteen. Act like it. Have fun!”

“She’s right, you know,” Luna tuned in. “None of us really had much time to be proper teenagers. Let’s have fun now, shall we?” 

Harry chuckled as Luna took a big swig of the mysterious purple liquid and he nodded, lifting up his Firewhisky in cheers to that. He turned back to Malfoy, his eyebrows raised, and downed the drink in one. He winced at the taste and saw Malfoy do the same in spirit. 

“Gah,” he hissed. “Go on, Malfoy. Have some.” 

Harry pointed his wand at the glass and refilled it, swirling the liquid around under Malfoy’s nose with his arm outstretched. Malfoy rolled his eyes and grabbed the glass. 

“You know, this is known as peer pressure.”

“Good,” Harry told him. 

“Do it, pussy,” Ginny said and nudged him a little. “Do we have to do the song?”

“The song?” Harry and Malfoy both questioned at once.

“Oh, come on, really? It’s a muggle thing, too, Harry. Dean taught me.” She grinned mischievously, snatched the half-full glass from Malfoy’s hand and replaced it with the bottle that was still about a quarter full. “Ready? Weeeeeee–”

“No,” Malfoy said. “I’m not drinking all of this!”

“We love to drink with Malfoy, ‘cause Malfoy is our mate!”

“Am I?” Malfoy said bleakly.

“And when we drink with Malfoy, he gets it down in eight–”

“No!”

“Seven!”

“Circe’s fucking tits, Weasley, I can’t—”

“Six!” Ginny persisted, and Harry joined in now, Luna clapping along. “Five! Four!”

“Merlin’s beard,” Malfoy groaned, before pressing the mouth of the bottle to his lips and tipping the bottle upwards, the liquid trickling down into his mouth. He started to glug it down impressively, his eyes screwed tightly shut, and Harry’s speech went slightly askew as he watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed and his lips quivered. 

“Three! Two!” they went on, and almost all of the liquid was gone now, somehow. Harry hadn’t a clue how he had managed to get rid of so much of the contents already. By the time that they had finished shouting “One!” there were only a few droplets left in the bottom of the bottle. He pulled the bottle away from his lips and Harry watched a drop or two trickle down his lip, and he yearned to lick it away. 

Malfoy grunted and slammed the bottle onto the kitchen counter, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and swaying a little on his feet. He shook his head furiously before gasping and saying, simply, “Holy fuck.”

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Ginny said enthusiastically. “Do you want some more?” She waved her wand and the Firewhisky refilled to the very neck of the bottle. 

“Oh, Merlin, give me a moment. Shit.”

“It feels warm, doesn’t it?” Luna asked. “Very nice. Just let go, Draco.”

Ginny pressed a kiss to her head and Harry looked back towards Malfoy, who already had his eyes on him yet again. Harry leant forwards and picked up the full bottle, and took several large gulps of it before giving himself a little shake. 

“Right!” he exclaimed. “What are you all doing in here? Let’s get outside!”

“I got cold,” Malfoy complained.

“He was asking about you,” Ginny said, none the wiser as Malfoy glared at her head. “But alcohol warms you up! Let’s get back out there!”

She charged fiercely out of the kitchen and into the garden once again with Luna under her arm. Harry clutched the bottleneck tightly, taking a step closer towards Malfoy, crowding him a little against the counter. He saw something flash in his eyes. 

“You wanna go back outside, Malfoy?” he asked, and he wasn’t too sure when his voice had gotten so low. 

“Mm,” Malfoy mumbled, and he stumbled a little bit. It seemed they were both equally caught off guard by the effects of the Firewhisky. 

“You wanna?”

“I want more of this,” Malfoy whispered, placing his hand gently over Harry’s on the neck of the bottle. 

“Okay,” Harry said. He lifted the bottle to Malfoy’s lips, who accepted it into his mouth easily. His eyes remained dutifully on Harry’s as he downed some more of the alcohol. He hummed happily at the burn that was in his throat and his eyes closed as he welcomed even more. Harry didn’t move, didn’t blink for worry of missing even a single second of the sight in front of him. 

“You’re so hot,” Harry told him quietly. “Seriously.”

Malfoy brought his lips away from the bottle and shifted against the counter. Harry’s breathing had become so heavy and he hadn’t even noticed it until now, when Malfoy turned the bottle and directed it to Harry’s mouth instead. Harry gulped down the Firewhisky as fast as he could, trying not to think about it as it slid down his throat. 

“You’re so inexplicably sexy that it hurts my head,” Malfoy told him. “This muggle suit you wear – I can’t help but let my mind wander when I see such a thing that fits you so well. Robes really aren’t your thing, are they?”

Harry hadn’t even realised that he had drained the bottle until he felt nothing else enter his mouth. He pulled his mouth off of the rim and pushed the bottle down onto the counter behind Malfoy; all things that were separating the two of them now gone. Their breath was hot, more so when mingled in the close proximity of each other, and Harry couldn’t even laugh when his glasses fogged up. 

“Why are they your thing, again?” Harry asked, nudging their noses together and taking a firm grip on the front of Malfoy’s robes. “I want to see you in a suit. I want to see you in fucking nothing…”

“Ah, Potter…” Malfoy said, Harry wasn’t really sure why, but he didn’t care because one inch closer and they’d have their mouths on each other again, after waiting what felt like so long —

“No, no, I swear! He gave me the eyes!” A girl shrieked a giggle from just outside the window, and it seemed that they had both realised at the same time just how in view they were of the entire party. Harry stumbled away from him quickly and held his head as it began to spin. 

“He did not!” Another girl gasped.

“He was staring right at my tits – I swear it upon Merlin! Oh, do you think he might be up for it tonight? I could be his midnight kiss!”

“Don’t be ridiculous! He’ll be swarmed with proposals for it, you know this.”

“Yes, but he was looking at  _ me _ — not anybody else!”

“No, he was looking at your chest – you do have a rather impressive bust, to be honest…”

Harry flushed bright and mumbled to Malfoy, “Don’t think I’ll be looking for any tits tonight.”

“No?” he replied, quickly pouring himself another shot. “I’ve seen you with a pair of tits already; the siblings out there? They seemed particularly taken with you.”

“You saw them?”

“I saw all of them.” 

Harry couldn’t help the side of his mouth tug upwards. “Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m not.”

“You sure?”

“I’m not  _ jealous,  _ what a– a preposterous accusation to make.”

“Let’s go outside, Malfoy,” Harry said. “I reckon it’s time we got some more drink.”

“More drink?” Malfoy suddenly perked up again. “Yes. More drink.”

“More drink,” Harry repeated. “It’s nicer outside as well. Hey, hey, we should try and find some people!”

“There are people  _ everywhere,  _ Potter.”

“What about Seamus?”

“What  _ about  _ Seamus?”

“Let’s see him! We can see if he’s at all happier!”

“Oh, has he finally confessed?”

“Confessed?” Harry asked, puzzled, as they both walked to the door. As soon as they stepped out, there appeared two men handing them two new glasses of wine. Harry grinned and he turned to giggle with Malfoy at the sudden new alcohol supply. 

“To that Thomas bloke.” He swirled around the wine in the glass and sniffed it. “Er, what is it? — Dean.”

Harry barked a laugh. “Dean and Seamus? No! No way.”

“Oh, sweet Harold,” Malfoy tutted. “So much you don’t know.”

Harry frowned. “Don't call me Harold.”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his wine. “Mm. This is rather nice.”

“Wasn’t it you who was complaining about me mixing drinks?” he teased.

Malfoy rolled his eyes at him and Harry downed his wine in one. He wasn’t really in the mood for wine at this point — his head was swimming and he thought that it might have done him some good to have at least one glass of water. That would have been sensible, because now Harry was feeling unsteady on his feet and had to reach a hand out to the nearest stability. A woman looked at him reproachfully before realising who it was who had his hand on her arm and she suddenly swooned. He didn’t see Malfoy’s face but he could practically feel him rolling his eyes as he took hold of Harry’s bicep and pulled him away into the crowd.

Malfoy’s hand remained on his upper arm even once they had stopped walking. Harry had half a mind to ask him about it, if it hadn’t been for the sight of Hermione goddamn Granger downing a large glass of what looked like the same liquid that Luna had brought with her. When she opened her eyes, Harry could have sworn that he saw literal stars in place of her pupils. 

She burst out laughing and fell back onto Ron’s lap. After what seemed like a couple of seconds, the stars were gone and she covered her mouth, her eyes and herself seemingly back to normal. She pressed her mouth to Ron’s cheek and whispered something in his ear that made him flare up an even brighter red.

“Oh! Harry!” he exclaimed once he’d seen them approaching. “Darling, look, Harry is here!”

“Harry!” Hermione gasped, pushing herself to her feet again and wrapping her arms around both Harry and Malfoy, drawing them into a tight hug. “And Malfoy too! Oh, are you two having fun?”

“Yes!” Harry grinned, putting an arm around her in return, as well as one hand on the small of Malfoy’s back.

“I haven’t seen you in  _ ages,  _ Harry,  _ ages.  _ You won’t guess what! You won’t! Guess what Ron just did!”

He gaped at her. “What?”

Malfoy snorted into his wine glass once he’d seen what she was flaunting on her left hand. He quickly turned to his drink once he’d seen such a harsh look come from her.

“Oh my god,” Harry said, and couldn’t help but begin to laugh as well. “You didn’t!”

“We  _ did, _ ” she said defensively, beginning to slur her pronunciation. “It’s meant to be.”

“Meant to be,” Ron repeated groggily from behind them; now on his back, his eyes closed.

“Weasley,” Malfoy said as he walked over to him, and crouched down beside his body. “You simply  _ cannot  _ go to sleep before the countdown.”

“Malfoy, I am going to tell you something,” Ron said. “And I mean this, with all my heart; what the fuck?”

“What?” Malfoy asked. 

“Why are you wearing robes?”

“I prefer to be dressed when outside!” 

“That put some thoughts into my head,” Harry said quietly, and frowned a bit when he realised that he had said it out loud. Malfoy turned his head to him, a giddy smile upon his face, before Ron groaned.

“No! I mean, why do you always wear robes? Don’t you  _ know  _ that muggle fashion is all the rave nowadays?”

“Muggle fashion.”

“Muggle fashion, Draco Malfoy. Problem?”

“I’m fashionable, Weasley.”

“Then why are you wearing robes?”

“Enough!” Malfoy huffed. “Transfigure them!” 

“Transfigure what?” Harry asked.

A young man hurried up to them, carrying two glasses of wine in his hands. He had thick-rimmed glasses with a black swoop of hair over his forehead, and was, indeed, wearing muggle clothing. Harry smiled at him as he approached and said to him, “Hello, Mr Potter, a pleasure to meet you!”

“Hey,” Harry said smoothly, and Hermione gasped, her hands flying to her agape mouth.

“I forgot that you —”

“Hermione!” Ron called. “Come over here and transfigure the Ferret’s robes!”

“Oh, yes!” She nodded quickly, winking at Harry before hurrying away. 

The man laughed. “Some friends you have.”

“I love them,” Harry told him, looking over towards the three of his companions with a smile. Ron and Hermione were surrounding Malfoy, trying to work their magic with their minds foggy.

“You seemed pretty cosy with Mr Malfoy, there,” the man said, handing him the glass of wine. Harry took it gladly, his eyebrows suddenly raised as he chuckled nervously.

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “Does this mean that you’re publicly on good terms with him?”

“What does it look like?” Harry shrugged. “So, what’s your name?”

“Jerry Singleton, and — I was about to ask your name, terribly silly of me.”

“Not silly. I wish more people I met had to ask my name. Being famous isn’t all that, you know.”

“No?”

“I shouldn’t complain,” Harry chuckled. 

“No,” Jerry agreed, laughing with him. “So… There’s been a lot of talk about where your eyes have been wandering tonight.”

“Oh?” he giggled, sipping some of his wine. “Oops.”

“Affinity for breasts?”

“Not only breasts.” Harry drained his glass. “You know, you ask a lot of questions.”

“You give me good answers,” the man tuned. “It’s intriguing.”

“Is it?” Harry grinned. “I’ve never had this much booze before.”

“What? Merlin, I forget you’re only eighteen now.”

“What? How old are you?”

“Twenty–six.” 

Harry whistled shortly, tapped his glass so that it refilled itself. He couldn’t quite see properly. 

He staggered a little bit, lifting a hand to push his glasses further up his face. He licked his lips quickly, his eyes raking the older man. “You know, you’re pretty hot. For an old man, I mean.”

“Oh?” Jerry smirked towards him. “For an old man, huh? You know, I’m the same age as your Charlie.”

Harry tilted his head. “You know Charlie?”

“Intimately.”

“Oh. Oh!” 

Jerry laughed. “You’ve caught on.”

“Are you seeing each other?” he asked, his mind freakishly trying to imagine that scene. 

“No, no, it was only ever purely sexual between us,” he answered, a low purr. “Indeed, he preferred the presence of dragons to my presence after a while.”

“That sounds dodgy,” he replied, his throat now croaky. “And a poor choice he made.”

Jerry hummed and a hand was lifted to Harry’s face. He cupped his cheek, and Harry darted his tongue out to wet his lips instinctively, staring up at the taller man as he began to twirl Harry’s curls around one of his fingers. His thumb swiped over Harry’s bottom lip. His eyes were filled with a sort of familiar desire that felt enticing and yet slightly  _ wrong _ to Harry, and he wasn’t too sure why.

“You’ve brilliant eyes,” Jerry told him. 

“Thanks,” he said, reaching up and scratching the back of his head. His head was still swimming, telling him  _ yes, no, yes.  _

“You have a room, here, am I—” 

“Potter!” Malfoy shouted, and Harry’s head whipped around, Jerry’s hand dropping from his cheek. Harry grinned when he saw him, his jaw dropping, having to slap a hand over his mouth after a minute in case he began to laugh out loud.

“Malfoy!” he blurted shakily, pressing his lips together to try and hide his smile. 

“Your so-called  _ friends  _ just– they just– I mean, I knew about Weasley, but I thought at least Granger was competent!”

He was no longer wearing his robes. Indeed, Malfoy was no longer wearing anything at all, really. Oh, he was covered, but you could barely call it that. The best word that Harry could come up with for it was a catsuit. Black, though not leather, it looked as though the other two of his trio had shrunken Malfoy’s robes until they fit him as tightly as a glove, then decided to make them trousers as an afterthought.

He took a peek over at his two best friends, who were rolling on the floor, gasping for breath between their wild laughter, wiping tears from their eyes. Harry looked back to Malfoy, bit his lip, and passed his wine back to Jerry.

“So what’s the problem?” he asked, and snorted at the look on Malfoy’s face. “Okay, okay, it’s not appropriate for this type of party, but—”

“Help me, Potter! People are going to start looking!”

“No, they aren’t, calm down!”

“Potter, people are always looking at you!” He frowned and glared back at Jerry. “For example.”

“Jerry is a friend–”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure you cop off with all of your friends, don’t you?”

“Well, you do, from what you’ve told me,” Harry retorted. “Come on, let’s get you some new clothes. Ron will have something that fits you, you’re almost the same height.”

“I’m  _ not  _ wearing Weasley’s clothes, Potter,” he said, aghast as they began to walk back inside, Harry barely hearing Jerry scoff from behind them. 

“Then wear some of mine.”

“You’re too short.”

“Then wear some of Charlie’s.”

“He’s the same height as you.  _ And _ — he’s a Weasley.”

“Malfoy.”

“Fine, I’ll wear some of yours. I would – I would transfigure them to make them bigger, but I really am rather dizzy…”

Harry could relate to that. In fact, as well as feeling slightly dizzy, he found that he was incredibly warm inside, and couldn’t seem to stop smiling all of a sudden. 

“I’m warm,” he said.

“You are.”

“Huh?”

“You’re holding me.”

Harry looked down. Oh, he was, wasn’t he? He wasn’t quite certain when or why that had happened.

“Oh,” he said, with a discernible huff. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Is it question time, Potter?”

“It could be,” Harry said quickly, directing Malfoy to the stairs with the palm of his hand on his waist. “When was the last time you wanked?”

Malfoy’s eyes widened and he gaped at Harry for a moment, his movement frozen, before he lifted a hand to cover his mouth and let out what Harry could have mistaken for a laugh. But, no, surely not?

“What?” he asked, a smile sneaking onto his own complexion.

“Versed in the art of subtlety, Potter?”

“Maybe I’m just curious.”

“You and that word.” He shook his head with a soft  _ tsk  _ and began to walk once more, though Harry could still see a smile on his face as he turned to go ahead of him.

Harry felt as though he had never appreciated a smile like that before; it was beautiful, really, and rather captivating. He was so used to seeing Malfoy with a rude sneer or a hateful smirk over his face that it was foreign to have one directed at him that felt so pure, so familiar. 

As he finally felt his legs move beneath him once again, he found himself trotting up the stairs a couple of steps lower than Malfoy was walking. He must have done it on purpose, he thought, he must have orchestrated the entire thing, because it was torture for Harry to walk up those stairs with a direct faceful of arse right at eye level. He made a mental note to hit Hermione and Ron later on for that outfit because now he was sporting a rather awkward erection. He was briefly aware that he’d had it since the kitchen, but it hadn’t been quite as prominent, then.

“You remember where my bedroom is?” Harry asked, directed towards Malfoy’s arse. He could really just reach out and grab it. It would probably be okay, wouldn't it? 

“I remember where your bedroom is,” Malfoy told him. “How could I not?”

Harry couldn’t help but grin at the memory that flooded his mind and blocked out all other senses. “That was so hot.”

“Shh,” Malfoy hushed him, reaching the landing finally. “Not out here. We could be heard.”

“Oh,” he gasped, excitement gliding through him. “Okay. Is it like, our little secret?”

“Yes,” he told him, now grinning back at him. “Isn’t it thrilling?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. Harry stepped up to the landing to be level with the other man and didn’t take his eyes off of him. He opened the door to his bedroom and allowed Malfoy inside first, because he was a gentleman. Now, he thought, which surface was suitable enough to bend him over?

“This is fucking tight,” Malfoy complained as he reached backwards, trying to find some way to take off the ridiculously attractive suit. Harry simply nodded and shut the door, his eyes on the other man’s neck.

“There’s not a zip or anything,” Harry told him. “We might have to cut it off.”

“No,” he said firmly. “Especially not while you’re drunk.”

“I’m not  _ drunk, _ ” Harry scoffed. “You are the one who is drunk.”

“Oh? Oh, yes?” Malfoy shook his head and held up one defiant finger, waggling it in Harry’s face. “No.”

“Just let me—”

“No!”

“Then let me rip it off! That won’t be risky, will it?”

“You won’t be able to–”

“Hey, I’ve been doing weights, okay?” 

Without another word of complaint, Harry dug his fingers beneath the collar of the suit, and in one swift movement, created a rip down the centre of it, though not all of the way down. Malfoy wasn’t looking down at his clothing, he was gazing at Harry’s face. 

“Maybe you should take your jacket off?” Malfoy proposed. “It might make it easier.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, nodding because it sounded plausible. He shrugged off his jacket and allowed it to fall to a heap onto the floor. Rolling his neck and his shoulders, because he really did have a lot more flexibility now that the restricting jacket was off, Harry grabbed hold of the rip. He yanked it harder, so that it split further down, all the way to his belly button, Harry could see.

He looked back up towards Malfoy’s face and found his focus solely on Harry’s biceps now. Harry would be the first to admit that they really weren’t all that impressive (though he was trying, really) so he couldn’t quite understand the fixation. 

“Here,” Harry said, and pushed his hands underneath the two sides of fabric either side of the split, and pushed it off of his shoulders, down his arms. 

It was then that Harry had noticed the gargantuan pressure that was placed upon his heart as he stood and saw Malfoy shirtless for the first time. No undershirt was worn, as was the case the last time the two of them had occupied this room. Harry wished that he could have focused purely on the beauty of his flesh and the contrast of colour from his chest to his nipples, the white-blond, almost transparent hair that was dusted around his chest (or lack thereof). He wished that could have been the case. 

“Don’t,” Malfoy said softly when he could sense Harry was going to say something, probably stupid. “Don’t speak.”

“But —”

“Don’t,” he said again. It looked as though his hands were aching to rise and cover himself, though he persisted in keeping them down by his sides. 

The scar that stretched over Malfoy’s torso was even bigger than Harry could have imagined it to be. It stretched from his left collarbone all the way down to right above his right hip bone. A dusty, dead purple colour, it looked a grotesque sort of pretty against the whiteness of Malfoy’s skin. 

He could remember it when it was open, oozing blood, all his fault. Malfoy lying on the wet bathroom floor and whimpering, sobbing. It all came back to him, like a flash, like the crack of a whip upon bare flesh —

_ ‘SECTUMSEMPRA!’ bellowed Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly. _ _   
  
_

_ Blood spurted from Malfoy’s face and chest as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. He staggered backwards and collapsed on to the waterlogged floor with a great splash, his wand falling from his limp right hand. _ _   
  
_

_ ‘No –’ gasped Harry. _ _   
  
_

_ Slipping and staggering, Harry got to his feet and plunged towards Malfoy, whose face was now shining scarlet, his white hands scrabbling at his blood-soaked chest. _ _   
  
_

_ ‘No – I didn’t –’ _ __   
  


_ Harry did not know what he was saying; he fell to his knees beside Malfoy, who was shaking uncontrollably in a pool of his own blood. Moaning Myrtle let out a deafening scream. _

— His eyes were filled with blurring wetness before he could even realise it. The sight in front of him was a hellspawn — right from one of Harry’s nightmares. 

Suddenly, he felt a lot more sober.

“I’m sorry,” Malfoy said. “I didn’t want you to see. I didn’t remember until too late.”

“What the hell have you got to be sorry for?” Harry asked, and shook his head when Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “I mean, about this.”

Malfoy shrugged. “It can’t be a good memory for you.”

“For  _ me?  _ It was my fault! I should have never used a spell when I didn’t know what it did!”

“I tried to  _ crucio _ you, Potter. Defending yourself was completely natural,” he replied calmly.

“I could have killed you.”

“You  _ could  _ have. You didn’t.”

“But —”

“Can we both go back to being drunk, please?” Malfoy asked. “I’m feeling a bit tense now.”

“Malfoy.”

“Potter. It’s fine. Really. I used to despise you for it, but now, I assure you, it is fine.”

“Why?” he asked, aghast.

Malfoy sighed. “Because it reminds me of it. When I think of all that I had done — I deserve worse than a scar, Potter.”

Harry approached him by only a few steps. He was still staring.

“Why didn’t it scar on your face? Your neck?”

“It wasn’t as deep there. If it had been, I probably would be dead. Uncle Severus was extremely good with healing spells, and I made sure that most of the dittany was applied to any visible areas.”

“Malfoy…”

“I don’t want your pity, Potter. Anything but that.”

“What about sympathy? Sorrow?”

“What is the difference between those, and pity? I think you of all people should know that pity over scars becomes annoying after a while.”

Harry clenched his fist. Then he bit his lip, as an idea came to his mind. He began to unbutton his shirt. 

Malfoy frowned. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Since we’re talking about scars,” he said. He pushed off his dress shirt and pointed to a light oval in the middle of his chest. “You see this?”

“Yes?”

“This is from where Voldemort’s necklace burnt into me. These ones?” Harry raised both arms, stretched out in front of him. “This one is from where Nagini bit me. This one is from when Pettigrew cut me to get my blood.  _ This  _ — the really faint one? That’s proof about the Basilisk. That’s where its tooth got me. Oh, wait, this one is a favourite…”

“Potter, you don’t have to…” Malfoy trailed off as Harry held out his hand, showing Malfoy the back of it. “I must not tell lies,” he read aloud, confused.

“Don't know if you ever got detention with Umbridge. She had an unusual way of dealing with delinquency,” Harry scoffed. “Or the truth.”

The other man’s eyes were wide, now, and he looked impossibly paler. “I — I was with her… I helped her.”

Harry didn’t point out that he had helped Voldemort as well. Didn’t seem like it would be beneficial to anybody. Instead, he did not reply, but bent down to pull up his trouser leg.

“Here’s from where an acromantula caught me.”

“What the fuck,” Malfoy whispered. 

“Oh, and these ones,” Harry said, pointing at several light scars over his knees and his legs — “Were from falling over. You know, the usual.”

“The usual?”

“This, though.” He gestured towards his stomach, a line just beside his belly button. “My cousin, Dudley, and his friend, Piers, were chasing me around the park and I fell and caught myself on a jagged plant pot. I feel like I should’ve gotten tetanus from that…”

Malfoy gulped. “What’s tetanus?”

“Doesn't matter. I also have one on the top of my head from banging it on the windowsill really hard and some on my fingers, which you can’t really see, but I notice it all the time. I dropped the frying pan and the oil splattered and burnt me.” He wiggles his fingers in front of Malfoy’s face. “The point is, scars aren’t anything to be ashamed of, are they? We all have them from the War. I’m just sorry that your scar has to be from me.”

He studied Harry for a moment, then shook his head. “You’re right.”

“I know.”

He proceeded to push off the rest of the suit all of the way, stepping out of it and throwing it onto Harry’s bed. Harry wasn’t quite sure why, but he felt the need to look away; to give Malfoy some privacy, even after all the two of them had done together. 

He began to hum as he buttoned up his shirt once again, tucking it into his trousers. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, really, but it had left him feeling uncomfortably sombre and sober. 

“Potter,” Malfoy said. “Thank you.”

Harry turned back to face him, a little confused, but with a smile on his face. “That’s okay.”

He still wasn’t dressed. Harry wasn’t sure why he was stalling — he wasn’t that aroused anymore. Not at all. But when Harry looked to his face, he seemed down, still. 

“It’s not the only scar I got from the War.”

Harry’s mouth widened a bit, but he couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say. He decided to stay silent. 

“I don't have as many as you do.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Harry told him quietly. 

He saw Malfoy hesitate, his breath catch in his throat for a second. He walked closer to the bed, sat upon it and wiped his presumably sweaty hands onto the sheets. 

“I shouldn’t be talking about this,” he said.

“Why?”

“It’s… Upsetting.”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he told Malfoy gently. “Not if you don’t want to.” 

“You’re being too kind to me.”

“Is being too kind a thing?”

“Yes.” Malfoy chuckled bitterly. “Trust me.”

Harry hummed and walked over to sit next to him on the bed. “I think it’s about an hour until 1999.”

“Why aren’t we still drinking?” 

“Teenage angst?”

“Why, don’t we have so much in common?”

Harry laughed at the dark attempt at humour, shaking his head as he did so. “Aren’t we a fun pair?”

He grinned. “Inexplicably.” 

It was a moment or two of silence before Harry spoke once again. Quietly, he asked, “Why are you still undressed?”

Malfoy stared at him and Harry wondered if he had been tasked now with interpreting a look in his eyes; maybe he wanted something to come out of the two of them being up here alone, after all? 

But alas, Malfoy sighed, and said to him, “I believe you promised me some of your clothes?”

Oh.

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed, standing and nodding quickly, then hurrying over to his dresser. “Sorry. I forgot. What do you want to wear?”

“Something smart. Have you another suit you can spare?”

“Might do.” 

He turned and pulled free a dress shirt not dissimilar to the very one he was wearing at that moment, accompanied by the matching trousers, both of which Harry had a feeling would be too short and too broad for the man in front of him. 

Harry had sat himself down on the bed whilst Malfoy began to dress himself, constantly complaining about the tightness of the garments that he was putting on his body. Harry had snorted when he saw how the dress shirt had appeared as more of a cropped top, showing off a chunk of his hip bones, his trousers revealing the striped socks that Malfoy wore to his calves. 

He had tried to enlarge the clothing himself, but had just resulted in accidentally casting an  _ engorgio _ right at Harry’s pillow, narrowly missing his head. Unanimously deciding that the man was still a little drunk, despite their sobering conversation, Harry chuckled and took it upon himself to do the charm.

It worked well enough. The shirt might have hung a little low over his hips, but it was fine; he was going to tuck it anyway. As such, Harry gave himself a pat on the back for his astounding magical ability, a grin plastered over his face once again.

“You ready?” he asked as Malfoy shoved his shirt down his trousers. 

Malfoy nodded. “I’d like to be drunk again. Now.”

“We could find Luna,” he suggested, opening the door for them to leave and join the rest of the party once again. He could still hear the noise from up here. “I reckon that drink she has is some kind of dodgy.”

“Does that not mean we should stay away from it?” he asked. Harry rolled his eyes, and as he turned, happened to walk straight into the figure of something – someone – that had definitely not been there before.

“Oh! Sorry, boys!” the someone said, and Harry adjusted his glasses. Charlie smiled down at him, and then turned to Malfoy, his expression twisting into one of shock when his eyes landed upon where Malfoy’s hands were; still tucking his shirt in, looking as if —

“No!” Harry rushed. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Charlie chuckled. “We’ve all been there, Harry.”

“No, but it’s  _ really  _ not what it looks like,” he exclaimed. “Ron and Hermione transfigured his robes too small, he had no other clothes, so I took him to get some.”

“It really doesn’t sound believable,” Malfoy commented unhelpfully. “But it is what happened. Ask your brother if you deem necessary, Weasley.”

Charlie hummed suspiciously in response. 

“What are you doing, anyway?” Harry asked.

“Me?” he asked, as if it could have possibly been anyone else. “Just fetching something from my bedroom.”

“Do you need an escort?” Malfoy asked, and Harry elbowed him in the ribs as one of Charlie’s eyebrows rose. 

“To my own bedroom?”

“One can never be too careful. Always nice to have company.”

Charlie huffed a laugh and gave Harry a look that he couldn’t quite decipher. “Maybe not tonight, Malfoy,” he said. “Maybe in about five years?”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Malfoy told him. “And you can hold me to anything you w—”

“Okay!” Harry interrupted, slapping a hand over Malfoy’s mouth. “Sorry, Charlie! See you later!”

“Good luck,” he laughed, and made his way up to his bedroom. 

“You know,” Malfoy said, once he had pushed away Harry’s hand. “If you want to gag me so badly, you could just ask politely.”

Harry froze still at that, gazing red-faced after a smirking Malfoy, who was beckoning him downstairs. There was something about the man wearing his clothes that enticed Harry, for reasons unknown. 

“That — Is that something that, uh, you would like?” Harry asked.

Malfoy chuckled for a second or two as they both walked, and Harry watched his long fingers gently slide over the bannister. What had he done with those fingers before now?

“Well,” Malfoy said quietly once they had both reached a level footing. He turned back to Harry, his face still pink and wide with a teasing touch to his expression. “I know that I certainly like being gagged by your—”

“—Load of cock!” Seamus exclaimed, slamming the door to the back garden. “You’re really going to claim that you have no fucking clue?”

“I don’t,” came Dean’s voice, calmer than that of his best friend’s. Harry cast a concerned stare towards the kitchen, then back towards Malfoy, who returned a look that said, quite clearly,  _ I told you so. _

“Then you’re dafter than a fucking plank.”

“Don’t get angry at me,” Dean replied, and his voice was still strangely steady. “I just want to know what’s wrong.”

“You could have asked. Harry asked! Ron’s asked, Neville asked, fuck, even Zabini asked me if I’m alright!”

“I’m – I’m sorry.” 

Harry wondered if the two of them should make themselves known. He was worried about overhearing their private conversation, clearly something that was meant to be kept between the two of them, but Malfoy was watching the doorway to the kitchen eagerly. 

“We should go,” Harry whispered towards him. 

“Are you joking? It’s just getting interesting.”

“Exactly.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll scatter as soon as they begin to take their clothes off.”

“What?” Harry gaped.

“Listen, I know I haven’t been a good friend recently,” Dean was saying. “I’ve missed you. Really.”

“Then how come when you’ve actually spoken to me, it’s just been about birds you find fit?” Seamus exclaimed. “Do you know how frustrating that is?”

“What? Frustrating? Why?”

“I’m  _ gay _ , you utter gobshite! For fuck sake!”

There was a silence following this that made Harry’s hair stand on end. His heart was hammering a hundred times a second, he was sure, and they were  _ definitely  _ not supposed to be hearing this business right now. He looked back to Malfoy, who was looking increasingly interested by the second.

Why was there no sound now coming from them? Had something happened? Or were the two of Harry’s friends just looking at each other now, as he and Malfoy had so often done so before a burst of passion?

“Malfoy,” Harry whispered. “Come on. We’re going back outside. We need to act as if we haven’t just heard all of this.”

Malfoy pouted. “Spoilsport.”

“Come  _ on _ .” Harry tugged on Malfoy’s arm and they began to stumble into the kitchen, quickly, as though they had not just eavesdropped on one of the most private conversations that a pair of best friends could have.

Harry’s arm was around Malfoy’s waist as they walked in, and he felt comfort in the feeling of his body heat against him. It was almost like they were cuddling, in a way, and he sort of wished that they could have been. 

When they entered the room they both froze at once, and Harry felt more guilty than he remembered being for a while because this sight should not have been his or Malfoy’s to see. Dean was impossibly close to Seamus; their lips had to be less than an inch apart from the other’s. Their gazes tangled so deeply with each other that it took a great deal of Harry struggling to get Malfoy to move that actually caught Seamus’ attention in the first place.

“Fuck,” he said quickly, and Dean’s head whipped around to see what had caught the other man’s attention. 

“Harry,” Dean said. 

“Dean!” Harry grinned, acting as if he hadn’t just seen what he had; or that, perhaps, he had been too drunk to realise. He stretched out one arm, the other still secure around Malfoy’s waist. “Seamus! Haven’t seen you guys yet tonight!”

“Malfoy,” Seamus said, nodding in acknowledgement. “What’ve you two been doing?”

“Needed a change of clothes,” Malfoy told them, and then, with a roll of his eyes, added in explanation, “Weasley magic.”

“You boys should go and get a drink,” Dean said kindly. There was an edge of anticipation to his voice. Harry knew that well.

“You’re right.” Harry nodded feverishly and clapped a hand to his forehead. “Why the hell haven’t we got drinks, Malfoy?”

“Because we’ve been upstairs?” he remarked back, pulling open the back door and pushing Harry outside. Before Malfoy joined him outside, the man leaned in and told the two of them, “Free bedroom, upstairs and to the immediate left.”

“That’s not where my bedroom is,” Harry told him with a frown as Malfoy closed the door.

“I know,” he said. “It’s Ronald’s. Even better.”

Harry grinned at this and kept grinning until it rolled into an easy laugh that he managed to share with Malfoy, who began to chuckle when he realised that Harry couldn’t seem to stop laughing.

“What?” he asked through his wide smile. “I know I’m hilarious, Potter, but honestly...”

“Sorry,” Harry laughed dizzily, shaking his head. “God, I don’t even know what’s so funny. It’s just you.”

“Should I consider a job as a comedian?” Malfoy entertained.

“You wearing muggle clothes is funny enough.”

“Hey!” He frowned. “I thought I looked rather fetching. It’s fashionable now, you know, Potter?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Malfoy, you’re truly one of the best-dressed wizards I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You only play with sarcasm because you prefer me with no clothes at all.”

Harry paused for a second, his smile not faltering in the slightest. “I’ve yet to have you with no clothes at all.”

“We… May be able to change that.”

Harry wanted to kiss him right then and there, and he probably would have done if it hadn’t been for the drinks that got pushed upon the two of them once again, and the whirlwind of an audience attempting to catch Harry’s attention once they’d realised where he was.

A middle-aged woman with too much eye makeup was telling Harry all about how thankful she was for all he’d done for their community while Harry watched Malfoy be beckoned away by his mother. Probably a good thing that the two of them had managed to sober up a little bit. 

It wasn’t long until 1999, though, and there seemed to be a large number of women moving in to surround Harry in a daunting circle. 

“Sorry,” Harry said, interrupting one or two of the women. They didn’t seem to mind. “I need to find my friend, is that okay?”

“Oh, no, don’t go, Mr Potter!” one of them shrieked. “We’ve ever so much to thank you for!”

“Harry?” A familiar voice. 

“Hello?” 

“Are you trapped?” it asked.

“Kind of.”

“Do you want some help?” It was almost as if God was talking to him. Where was the voice coming from?

“Yes, please.”

He was yanked backwards by his shirt quickly and found himself pulled behind one of the bushes. Harry huffed, making sure his drink was still satisfactorily full, before looking up to his saviour.

“Oh!” Harry said happily. “Neville! Mate!”

Neville laughed. “Looked to be in a bit of a puzzle, there.” 

“They all want me to kiss them, Nev.” He sighed. “It’s horrible.”

“What? Sorry, mate, tell me again why it’s bad that a bunch of women want to kiss you?”

“Because I don’t want to kiss  _ them.” _

“Oh.” Neville nodded sympathetically as he watched Harry take another drink. “Still Ginny, eh?”

“What? Ginny? No, no, no, she’s with Luna now.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, wait, how are you handling that?”

“Alright, actually. I mean, I really was mad about her, but it wasn’t right, in the end. But Malfoy and his mates haven’t really been… you know.”

“Malfoy? What’s he done?”

“Just with the – teasing.”

Harry racked his brain for a moment, staring at Neville with a confused expression across his face until he recalled the situation. He had put it out of his brain, recently, the wet little situation that Neville and Malfoy had shared together in the shower. In fact, while it wasn’t unpleasant by any means to picture, Harry found himself frowning at the image. It was like something familiar inside him was telling him  _ no! Bad! _

Harry had to wonder, as well, just how many there had been in total. He’d previously stopped Malfoy from listing them all out, but now there was something in his chest, yearning to know. Was he better than them? Did Malfoy find him better than the others? 

He’d show him that he could be better than Durmstrang students. 

Neville snapped his fingers in front of Harry’s face and called him back to reality curiously. “Harry?”

“Fuck, sorry, Neville. Yeah. I can tell them to stop, if you’d like. I mean, they’re only doing it now because you’re all fit.”

“Ah, thanks,” he chuckled. “It doesn’t look like I’ll be having a midnight kiss, though.”

Harry snorted. “Why the hell wouldn’t you?”

“Well… Nobody’s asked?”

“You go ask, Neville! Women like a little bit of assertion, don’t they? Or, I mean, the men might do as well. Come on, Nev, you’re a legend. If you can pull the Sword of Gryffindor, you can pull a couple of girls.”

Neville laughed at this, and let himself have a sip of his own drink. He huffed nervously after allowing the liquid to slide down his throat, and rubbed the back of his head. “You don’t think you could introduce me to anyone, could you?”

“Oh, yeah, probably?” he told him, looking around immediately for someone that could catch his eye. He grinned after a second, spotting something perfect, and placed his hand upon Neville’s arm. “This way.”

Neville followed him dutifully, draining his drink presumably to pluck up his courage. When Harry left him in front of the two siblings that had so desperately wanted his attention earlier on, his eyes had nearly burst out of his head, but he’d given Harry a thumbs up that made him chuckle. 

But now all he was able to think about was the images of Malfoy with all those men that he’d been with before, and he tried to calm his breathing as the thoughts of Malfoy with a cock in his mouth began to swarm his mind again. He wanted to talk more about Malfoy’s previous experiences; it made his blood boil but also made it travel south.

Where was Malfoy now, he wondered as he looked around. He didn’t want to seem too clingy, though, and it wasn’t as if Harry had nobody else to talk to. People were still looking at him yearningly, but he just downed his drink and set off to look for some of his friends. Perhaps, though, somebody like Theodore Nott was there? Harry might be able to ask him the extent of what he and Malfoy had done together. That seemed like a good idea.

Harry looked around and stopped the person nearest him, a gentle hand on his arm. The man smiled back at him and refilled Harry’s drink with a flick of his wand. 

“Thanks,” Harry said to him. “Sorry, you haven’t happened to see Theodore Nott here, have you?”

“Theodore Nott?” the man repeated, his voice pleasant with a French accent. 

“Um, yeah. He’s tall, taller than me, and he’s skinny. Really dark brown hair, verging on black. He’s got a pretty face. Dark eyes? Rather pale?”

“Perhaps?” The man nodded. “There was a boy… Ah, with a young man, dark skin, nice eyes.” 

Blaise, maybe? Harry thought, and God knew that it would be difficult to get Theodore away from that bugger. Though, Blaise had been with Malfoy once as well, hadn’t he? Had Malfoy not said that he and Blaise had once jerked each other to climax? 

He bit his lip as he pictured this, and then proceeded to imagine the three of them together. The counters of their skin; the sight and the smell of their sweat; their lips and saliva mingling; their hair all tousled and messy. 

“You are alright?” the man asked. “Too much to drink?”

“Sorry?” Harry hummed. “Oh, no. I’m alright, I’m fine.”

“Good! It is not long now; find yourself somebody to kiss!”

Fuck. Harry looked around him, at the numerous people who seemed to be casting his  _ tempus  _ charms. Ten minutes until 1999.

_ Fuck Theodore Nott,  _ he thought rapidly. That’s not what was important. Finding Malfoy was what was important – the fact that he didn’t know what he’d do with him when he found him was little to worry about. 

He heard everybody shouting, telling their friends how close they were to the new year, and his palms got increasingly sweaty. Harry cursed under his breath and gently manoeuvred his way through a crowd of people who were excitedly filling up their glasses of champagne, of prosecco, or other types of fancy drinks. 

A flash of bright blonde hair whipped across the field and Harry held his breath for a moment. Narcissa Malfoy was talking with somebody Harry didn’t recognise, her pretty aged face alight with a dizzy grin. The glass in her hand was almost empty.

“Excuse me, Mrs Malfoy, do you know where Draco is?” he asked in a rush, his heart pumping in his chest. 

“Oh, Mr Potter,” she replied, her smile not wavering. 

“Your son, Mrs Malfoy?”

“He came to speak to me, and then went to look for you,” she told him. “Perhaps send him a Patronus?”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, and then nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Harry pushed his way through the crowds once again until he was in the relatively quiet area by the kitchen once more. Dean and Seamus weren't there anymore. Harry made a mental note to remind Ron to wash his bedsheets. 

He conjured his Patronus swiftly and smiled at the figure, feeling as warm as ever before the embodiment of all things good. Nobody was looking over at him, all focused on each other or on the time, or the sky above them. 

“Can you find Malfoy, tell him to meet me in the kitchen?” he asked the stag, and it was gone before Harry sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. The crowds were getting excited now, Harry could tell. He saw Hermione and Ron giggling together a way off, gazing at each other as if they were the only two people in the universe. 

Harry pushed open the door to the kitchen and walked slowly inside, shutting it behind him as he took to staring through the window. Mr and Mrs Weasley had their arms around each other, swaying together softly. Bill and Fleur were grinning at each other, Fleur spinning around and around underneath Bill’s hand. Charlie had found Jerry. Nobody was staring at the two of them, thinking them disgusting. 

Harry thought about what the Dursley’s might be doing right now. He wondered whether they still had the neighbourhood cocktail parties on New Years; whether Dudley now was dressed up in a poncey suit like he always used to wear; whether he’d gotten Harry’s Christmas card that he’d sent him. 

He thought about all of the children who were at Hogwarts now, who had become orphaned due to the War. He should’ve invited them here. He should have done something to make them know they weren’t alone. He wondered whether or not they were having as good of a time there that Harry always used to, in the Christmas holidays. 

Ginny was teasing Percy about something outside. He was trying to defend himself, but she persisted. Poking him in the side, she was bearing her beautiful grin, and he covered his red face in embarrassment. Luna was hugging her father. 

An ache in his heart made him push out a long breath, settling his hands on the counter and dropping his head. In the biggest party of the year, how did he end up feeling so emotional? Standing in the kitchen, by himself, waiting for somebody who might not even show up. Hadn’t he saved the world? 

He poured himself a glass of water and downed it in one, his head still feeling dizzy, like his brain was floating somewhere else. He was about to pour himself another, when someone outside called out, “Five minutes, everyone!” which was followed by immediate cheers and gasps, and clinks of their glasses. 

Harry heard a  _ crack  _ behind him, a stumble of footsteps. When he looked up, there was a light reflection in the window. 

“Took you a while,” he said.

“I can’t be with you constantly, Potter, I have pleasantries to exchange.”

Harry grinned. “Of course. How many pure-bloods did you get around?”

“Well, I may have missed out Blaise’s second cousin, but aside from that…” Malfoy chuckled. “How many proposals have you received tonight?”

“Two or three? The ladies can’t get enough of me.”

“Only three? Merlin, Potter, I thought it would be more impressive than that.”

“I think it’s alright, considering I’ve been with you almost the entire night.”

He scoffed. “Oh, come, that’s not at all accurate.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Missed me that much?”

A teasing grin spread across Malfoy’s face. He took one step closer. “You wish.”

Harry settled his hands back on the counter and tilted his head. He took in the sight of Malfoy in his clothes once again. He could kiss him.

“Heard anything about Dean and Seamus?” he asked instead. 

“Heavens, no. But we can if you would like to loiter around outside the bedroom?” 

Harry laughed. “You’re such a pervert.”

“I am?” he gasped. “ _ Me _ ? Have you taken a look at yourself?”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. How much longer are you going to hold that against me?”

“How am I not meant to tease you about the fact you watched me suck somebody off?” Malfoy asked, rolling his eyes. They looked beautiful. Harry heard a loud whoop from outside the window but didn’t turn around. Malfoy’s gaze didn’t stray from Harry’s face, either. He could kiss him.

“Am I allowed to tease you about sucking him off, then?”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “That’s homophobic.” 

Harry chuckled, and they stood for a moment, not speaking. His heart felt full, and the soft look on the other man’s face made him look all the more admirable. His cheeks were flushed with red from the drink, his hair ever so slightly askew. Harry could have lived in the light they shared now. 

Malfoy cleared his throat. Harry bit his lip. When had he gotten so close? 

“Do you speak French, Potter?” he asked. Harry shook his head. “Ah. What a shame. It’s very beneficial to know multiple languages.”

“I’m sure. The Dursleys just wouldn’t let me go to French club, or Spanish. Or… Any club, really.” 

Malfoy wrinkled his nose. “Vile people.”

He nodded. “I know. Why don’t you teach me some?”

He seemed to consider this for a moment, before standing right at Harry’s side. Their arms were brushing. Electric was soaring through Harry’s body. When Malfoy opened his mouth and the erotic language came tumbling out of it, he could barely contain himself. He could have kissed him.

“Repeat after me,” he said softly. “ _ Tu peux me baiser quand tu veux.” _

He stared at his mouth, perplexed, and shook his head. He wasn’t even quite sure if he’d even heard him. “Sorry, sorry, say that again?”

Malfoy seemed to pause for just a moment, hesitant whilst he thought something over. After what seemed an age, he released his bottom lip from the grasp of his nervous teeth and said, “ _ Tu peux me faire l’amour quand tu veux.” _

“Too pyer me fair lamor kwan too ver.” Harry nodded. “Right. Got it.”

Malfoy snorted and shook his head at Harry’s poor attempt. “That was awful.”

Harry smiled. “What does it mean?”

“That’s for you to learn. Try  _ j’ai vraiment envie de toi. _ ”

“Cher frayment envy de-tah?” he said, now with a wide grin on his face. He was doing it a little on purpose, he supposed, but Malfoy wasn’t to know that. If it meant that Malfoy continued to speak French, he would act dumb as long as he needed to. He was looking at Harry like Hermione sometimes looked at Ron, he noticed. 

Malfoy met his eyes, opened his mouth, and shut it once more. His gaze flirted to and fro each of Harry’s eyes, every so often skimming to his lips. Harry was so taken by the sight, he could have kissed him.

“ _ J'aime quand tu me regardes comme ça, _ ” Malfoy whispered. 

“I’m not too sure whether or not it would be more attractive to know what you’re saying.”

“ _ Et moi, _ ” he hummed.

There was a crack and a bang from outside, and Harry saw the golden reflection of some sparks shimmer onto Malfoy’s face. People were cheering now, and the chitter-chatter died down almost completely into a pooled, unanimous chant. The crowd began to count down; “Ten! Nine! Eight—”

Harry wanted to look outside at the congregation, and some part of him felt as if he wanted to be a part of it. His breath was caught in his throat and his chest was tight, almost hurting now with a dull ache. His fingers curled into his palm atop the kitchen counter; his eyelids dropped halfway; his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. The room was almost spinning.

“— Seven! Six! Five—”

The sound of the chorus was slowly becoming distant. Harry didn’t understand how he could want to be apart of the shouts and yet simultaneously crave nothing more than to be where he was right at that moment, with grey eyes peering into his own, and, Harry thought, were you aware that when you looked closely, there were actually some flecks of blue in those eyes? And when you looked really,  _ really  _ closely, you could see how much bigger his pupils were compared to their usual size?

“ _ Cinq, _ ” Malfoy whispered, and Harry was almost shocked to hear any noise coming from either of them. He was still holding his breath. “ _ Quatre _ —”

He could feel the warmth of Malfoy’s words on his face. He could smell wine and champagne and smoke on his breath and he supposed it should have been off-putting. There was a cheer from outside. 

“ _ Trois, deux, _ ” he said, and his fingers brushed Harry’s cheekbone. He hadn’t even noticed him lift it. 

Malfoy looked wordless. In the very split second that there was left before 1999, he was stood in the dark with a dumbfounded, distracted, divine look on his face that made Harry’s chest pump harder and harder, and the flesh on his cheek was slowly beginning to warm up. What was almost inexplicable wasn’t the fact that his heart was thumping against his chest at an alarming rate, or the fact that his mouth was watering and his palms were sweating; it was the fact that whilst he wanted nothing more at this moment not to fuck the man he was with, but to  _ love  _ him. That scared him more than anything. 

The other man looked as though he was going through some sort of internal dilemma himself. He was flushed a bright red and his fingers were gently brushing backwards and forwards over Harry’s face, caressing it, almost. It was a small gesture, but it made Harry’s stomach flip. He could kiss him.

“One,” Harry said, and he kissed him. There were explosions from outside, Harry could almost see the bright, vast colours coming from the fireworks outside through the darkness of his eyelids. Neither of the two of them moved a bit, their lips just pressed firmly against the other’s. There were cheers and whoops of celebration of the new year from outside and Harry found that he couldn’t find anything less interesting, now, his attention focused solely on the body in front of him and nothing else — not the cool breeze or the loud clinks of glasses, nor the opening lines of  _ Auld Lang Syne.  _ Harry kept his eyes screwed shut. 

Malfoy slid his hand to the back of Harry’s head, his fingers entwined softly into his curly hair, his other hand placed gently still on his cheek, his thumb still stroking his cold skin. He pulled away ever so slightly after a couple of seconds, where all of the noise came flooding back to Harry like rapids, and he bit his lip as he listened to the close, shallow breathing. 

“Happy New Year,” Malfoy mumbled, and brought him forth to kiss him once more. This was more familiar, less rushed, their mouths opening and allowing each other to tentatively lick against one another, Malfoy’s lips had the power in themselves to weaken Harry’s knees and have him almost limp against the kitchen counter, the other man using his height to his advantage so that Harry could be crowded, his head tipping upwards to continue the lip-lock.

Harry’s fingers curled on Malfoy’s cheek, their noses snug aside one another and Harry’s glasses getting almost uncomfortably steamed up. He was surprising himself with how slow the kiss was. Their past experiences together had been, after all, anything but — fast and hot, desperate. 

He leaned backwards with his free hand, supporting both of their weight as Malfoy pushed against him. He briefly noted pushing something over and a small crash, but found that he didn’t really care. He’d fix whatever it was later on. 

Harry felt butterflies in his stomach and he couldn’t help but allow a smile to stretch across his lips as he continued to move his lips against Malfoy’s, and  _ why did this feel different,  _ he thought,  _ why is this so good?  _ He was having trouble arranging his thoughts, his mind an aimless puddle. 

Laughter found its way to Harry’s ears as it approached the kitchen, and Malfoy jumped away from him. It went against every single one of Harry’s urges, to grab him and pull him back into his lips for another even more heated kiss, but he stood still and ran a hand through his hair, attempting to calm his breathing as he rubbed his sweaty hands onto his trousers.

“— Wonderful!” a female voice was saying as she opened up the door. Malfoy was breathing as heavily as Harry felt he was himself, leaning against the fridge across the room and pretending to busy himself with a vial of some kind of potion. 

There was a man accompanying the woman, closely snug against each other with his hands on her hips, sliding downwards as they breached the room. Her dainty hands were running through her hair, pulling it back into a short dark ponytail as she flickered her long lashes and bit down onto her dark red lip. The man’s face was as handsome as his stature, looming over his partner with lust, pulling her body towards him. 

“So, where do you think the spare bedrooms are?” he asked eagerly. 

“Bedrooms?” she chuckled, dragging her palm down his chest as she began to bend her knees. “Who needs a bedroom?”

“The people outside—”

“Are all distracted,” she finished for him, smirking from her position on the floor. 

“Not all!” Harry interjected quickly, shaking his head before the two of them could proceed any further. “Sorry!”

“Potter?” she said after a moment, her neat eyebrows arched at him. 

“Who? Wait — Harry Potter?” The man’s head snapped up to look at him. “Holy shit!”

“Pansy?” Malfoy frowned, stepping forwards.

“Draco?” she replied.

Harry squinted at her. “Pansy Parkinson?” 

“What the hell?” she groaned. “Why were you two in here?”

Malfoy replied before Harry could even stutter an answer to that. “Why were you being a little slag?”

“Malfoy!” Harry scorned.

“She was!”

“Hey, that’s not very nice,” the man said. 

“He’s just sad that he’s not being a slag, himself.” She pushed herself to her feet, tilting her head at him. “Not found anyone for a midnight kiss?”

“Evidently.”

Pansy narrowed her eyes at him before directing her hard gaze towards Harry. He tried not to feel intimidated. 

“And what’s your excuse, Saviour?”

Harry gulped. “Forgot?” 

Pansy folded her arms. She gave Harry a once over, up and down with her menacing stare, before grabbing the man’s hand. 

“I’ll talk to you two later,” she declared, giving a pointed look towards Malfoy, before dragging the man away with her into another room. He gave them both a gleaming grin and a happy thumbs up before rushing to follow her. 

“She knows,” Malfoy said to the dark room. 

“What?” Harry breathed.

“She knows that you were my midnight kiss,” he told him, his voice firmer now.

“Um,” said Harry. “Okay. Okay. How do you know?” 

“She just knows. It was obvious. We were stupid.” 

“Would she tell people?” he asked.

He rolled his eyes. “No. Just forever use it as blackmail. Oh, by the way, they’ve probably gone to your bedroom.”

Harry waited, then said, “What if I wanted to use it?”

Malfoy gave him a side-eye look. “After them?”

“Well, no,” Harry told him, and proceeded to rub the back of his neck. “That would be pretty gross.”

“Do you want… Here?”

A dozen thoughts shot through Harry’s mind of Malfoy upon his knees before him on the tiled floor, or pressed up against the fridge, or bent double over one of the kitchen counters. His breath hitched, and he shook his head as many bright red alerts popped up in his mind’s eye, blaring the words  **WEASLEY’S KITCHEN** —  _ no, no, no! _

And in the back of his head, he was almost glad of the situation that he was in. He didn’t want to fuck, get off, or anything. He was almost relishing in what had been such a sweet moment. 

“God. No,” Harry chuckled nervously. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “That’s a new level of wrong. Come on, do you want to go back outside?”

Malfoy’s lips parted ever so slightly, as if he was shocked by the proposition. The corner of his mouth stretched upwards, and he nodded his head very slowly. 

“Alright,” he laughed. “Reckon there’ll be any champagne left?”

“Are you joking? I don’t think even half of it has gone, yet.”

Harry crossed the room and allowed the cool night air in through the door, creating their passage back to the land of the partying. He caught Malfoy’s wrist in his grip once the two of them were at the door and pulled him into the crowds.  _ Auld Lang Syne  _ was over now, replaced instead by some upbeat muggle music that Harry was sure was sung by some immensely popular artist, but he didn’t really care. It was not only a tune that he could dance to; it was a tune that he could dance to  _ with  _ somebody, and fuck him if that somebody wasn’t going to be Draco bloody Malfoy. 

He couldn’t register the rest of the night. Flashing lights of all colours, the press of multiple bodies upon him as the crowd danced as one, laughing and singing in his ears, drink after drink sliding gleefully down his throat. 

Bliss.

*

_ Hell,  _ Harry thought immediately as he awoke.  _ I am in Hell.  _

He rolled himself over in his bed —  _ how had he gotten to bed? —  _ and promptly emptied his gut out into the bin that was positioned perfectly beneath his mouth —  _ who put that there?  _ — He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and reached up to take a drink of the water on his bedside table, —  _ who had fetched that for him? —  _ taking large gulps of the liquid that never seemed to drain. He ran a hand through his hair, which seemed to be more knotty than it usually was, somehow, and it was… wet?  _ Why the hell was his hair wet?  _ The water in the glass disturbed and splashed as he struggled to place it down. He vanished his puke, groaning, and reached for his glasses, which were placed primly next to the glass of water —  _ who had taken those off for him?  _

Disoriented, to say the least, Harry pulled on his glasses and blinked furiously as the blurriness almost disappeared, leaving only the dizzy remnants of the state of his head. There was a dusting of snow on the window that wasn’t there last night, he was sure. Littered across the floor was his suit, and he could see his wand lying carelessly out of the pocket of his trousers. He rolled his eyes at himself, knowing what Hermione would have said about the recklessness of leaving one’s wand out when sleeping. He wondered whether Hermione and Ron were up and about yet; if their heads were pounding as much as his. 

He attempted to rake his brain, searching for the last thing that he could remember. He recalled a brief flurry of a drinking game with Ginny; laughing with Ron; hugging Luna close to him; covering his mouth purposefully and shushing when Seamus and Dean showed themselves once more. He could see back to telling Molly and Arthur how much he loved them (Molly had actually started crying a bit before realising how smashed he was); Angelina and George lifted him up onto their shoulders and propositioned to Charlie that the two of them should have a game to see who the better Seeker was. Neville had been seen kissing some lucky girl under the tree that was littered with fairies, who, people were saying, had started clapping for him. Bill and Fleur didn’t seem to be drinking. 

His back and his head hit the headboard. Things seemed to be missing from his head that he couldn’t quite retrieve, and he knew it may be too embarrassing (or completely useless) to actually ask anybody. Why did his first time drunk have to be around people who were middle-aged? Mrs Weasley was going to have no remorse for their sickness, he could practically hear her saying  _ you did this to yourself!  _

Things didn’t get much better. Looking down for the first time, the tent that was poking up out of the sheets was more confusing than anything. He felt as though he could flood all of Ottery St Catchpole with the contents of his stomach at the moment, so why the  _ hell  _ did morning wood think it was a good time to be chipper? 

“What is wrong with you?” he complained to his dick. “Take a break, why don’t you?”

Then he heard a little groan of protest, and his heart jolted almost instantly. He could feel it thumping a mile a minute, and his mouth dropped slightly before he turned his head to the left, and saw a body, curled up in the sheets. A pale face was pressed to the pillow, his pink lips open and dribbling a little bit, his hair askew and his fingers curled on his flushed cheek. He looked so peaceful. Harry wondered whether or not he would be throwing up everywhere the moment he cracked his eyes open as well. 

Had it been Malfoy who had sorted his stuff out for him? Malfoy, who had gotten him water and a place to be sick in the morning? The thought made him smile a little, but it hit him a second later. Malfoy was in bed with him. They didn’t have their clothes on; Harry wasn’t even sure whether or not they were wearing pants. Had somebody seen them come up together? Had they exposed themselves last night? Had they — he gulped — had the two of them fucked last night? 

Harry shifted. His bum felt fine, so if they  _ did  _ fuck, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about that. The most likely situation was that they would’ve gotten each other off as usual, but he would have liked to think that his pecker would have been a bit more chilled out this morning if that was the case. He lifted up the covers and took a peek — he  _ was  _ wearing underwear, the fabric stretched out to burst. He redirected his gaze, saw that Malfoy was wearing underwear as well. He allowed himself a huff of relief. He wasn’t too sure why, as it all equated to the same pleasure, but he wanted for the first time he and Malfoy had sex (actual, proper sex), to be done sober. It would feel more… sentimental, that way.

Malfoy shivered and reached down to pull the blanket back over himself, and Harry let him. He tilted his head, though, when he realised that Malfoy was shirtless and the weight of that. After what had happened last night, and how Harry now knew how self-conscious he was of his nude torso, he relished in the fact that it felt like Malfoy actually felt comfortable with him. He wondered if that would continue this morning when he finally woke up. 

Harry summoned his wand from the floor and flung a  _ colloportus  _ at the door while the thought that came to him was still in his head. He couldn’t imagine the look on any of the Weasley’s faces if they walked in on this sight. Directing it towards himself, he cast some cleaning charms on himself and his mouth, beginning to feel a little less disgusting. 

And with that, he stretched his hand downwards and cupped his cock in his hand. He let out a sigh of relief at the touch, tipping his head back as he began to roll his hips up into his palm. His toes curled as he pushed his hand beneath the confines of his pants, wrapping his fingers around his length and allowing a thousand pictures to scurry through his head — the many cleavages he came face to chest with last night, the pretty bare legs of a hundred different women, the fit arses of countless young men. He flopped his head to the left, and examined the stature of the man next to him. Yes, that would work. 

He remembered those lips around him. He could see it again now, Malfoy on his knees, lapping up his dick like a lollipop. He was really a sight, wasn’t he? Harry couldn’t figure out how the hell he had managed to end up sleeping - literally and sexually - with such a stunner. He closed his eyes as he remembered the sight, though, and remembered how he’d looked with cum trickling down over his face – and how much he’d looked like he enjoyed it. 

He squeezed himself at the memory. A shaky sigh and a bite of his lip, Harry began to stroke himself steadily, a rhythm building up that had his leg practically shaking. When he opened his eyes again, there was a pair of hooded grey eyes looking back at him.

“Don’t stop,” Malfoy said when Harry jumped. “Did I distract you?”

“On the contrary,” Harry replied quietly.

“Thinking of somebody else?”

Harry chuckled and said again, “On the contrary.”

Malfoy pushed himself up. He pressed a palm to his forehead and grunted, and Harry reached backwards to pass him the glass of water. 

“Thank you,” he huffed. Harry watched several droplets trickle down his chin. “Merlin. What time is it?”

He frowned in response, waving his wand with a silent  _ tempus.  _ He hadn’t even begun to think about the time. It could be tea time, for all he knew, but the light was still shining in from the high sun, and he hadn’t had even a whiff of any of Mrs Weasley’s delicious cooking yet. The spell told him  _ 12:13pm.  _

“What time did we get to sleep?” Harry asked. “I don’t remember coming in.”

Malfoy snorted. “Fuck if I do. Last thing I remember is you falling into the pond.”

“I fell into the pond?” Well, that explained the wet hair. “Fucking hell. Did we… do anything?”

“I am trying wholly not to panic about whether or not we did anything in front of everybody else, so shall we leave that to when we pop downstairs for brunch?” he responded dryly. “As for up here, I’m not sure. How’s my skin looking?”

Harry’s lips parted as his gaze dropped to Malfoy’s throat. They travelled then downwards, examining his exposed collarbones and the newly found chest and stomach. The scar didn’t show up so vividly in the bright light. He wanted to touch it.

“It looks good.”

He quirked a smile as Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I meant, how many love-bites have you left me with this morning?”

“Oh! Right. None?” 

He and Malfoy both raised their eyebrows at that. It didn’t seem all that right. He remembered gazing at that neck last night, wanting to impress upon it a million different colours of love. He could hardly believe he hadn’t acted on it; if not in public, then why not in bed? 

“I find it hard to believe we did anything without your mouth plastered to my skin.”

Harry had to agree with him. But instead of admitting this aloud, he rolled over, his hand coming to rest on the other man’s exposed hip. He moved his thumb gently over the bone. Malfoy smiled up at him and pressed his hands to Harry’s cheeks.

“My head is banging,” Harry told him. 

“I brought hangover draught with me,” Malfoy said in return. Harry could have conjured a crown to place upon his head. 

“You’re a God of a man, Malfoy.”

“I don’t remember saying that I had enough for two?” he teased. “Perhaps, if I did, I would prefer to share it with somebody else in the house?”

“Oh? Like who?” He squeezed his hip. “Charlie?”

“Are you  _ jealous, _ Potter?” 

“Jealous? Me? Kettle, pot.”

“What?” 

He grinned. “Nothing.”

“No, what does that mean?” Malfoy persisted with a pout.

Harry leaned close to him. “Ugh, go brush your teeth.”

“Make me,” he mumbled. Harry supposed it shouldn’t have sounded as alluring as it did, having it been about dental hygiene, and instead pointed his wand at Malfoy’s mouth. 

“You wanna do it the hard way?” he asked, his tone purposefully suggestive. 

He eyed the wand closely. “If you want to  _ imperio _ me to brush my teeth, I won’t argue.”

“I mean, I was just going to give you a good  _ scourgify, _ but…”

His eyes widened a little bit. “Oh. That would make a bit more sense. Sorry.”

“No need to apologise. Hey, think you’ve made any progress, yet?”

“I’m not in the mood to talk about that. Kiss me.”

“Brush your—”

“Kiss me, Potter, for fuck sake.”

Harry closed his eyes, leant down and kissed him, his hand gently stroking up and down his side. He tasted of morning and alcohol, but at least he hadn’t thrown up yet. He pressed his lips closer still more eagerly.

“You taste gross,” he told him.

“Salazar, you turn me on,” he told him back. 

Harry reattached their lips and rolled over even further, settling right above Malfoy’s body. He dragged his fingers down to the other man’s thigh, fingernails digging into the skin and leaving red marks in their wake. Palm nestled against his thigh, he gave it a small squeeze and bit onto his bottom lip. The sound that came from him made Harry grind down as a knee-jerk reaction. 

Malfoy’s hands were sliding down Harry’s bare back, leaving marks of their own with his pristinely cut nails, skimming over every inch of him almost desperately. He was arching up into Harry’s hips, the both of them just as eager for contact as the other. It was impeccable how irresistible he became to Harry in moments like this. 

One of Malfoy’s hands drew lower, toying with the waistband of Harry’s underwear with his delicate fingers and slipping them underneath, grabbing a handful of his arse in an urgent squeeze. Harry groaned, rolling down his hips once again. He gasped into his mouth, detaching their lips and humming pleasantly as Malfoy turned his head, pressing his lips to the pale, pointed jaw. 

“ _ Ah,  _ fuck,” Malfoy whimpered. His head tilted back further still, and Harry dragged his teeth down to his throat. “Potter, get your fucking pants off.”

“Only if you do as well.” Harry shuffled his hips and let Malfoy push down his underwear, lifting his knees awkwardly as he struggled to keep himself up on his elbows. He had no idea where they went, but he had the faintest knowledge that Malfoy had thrown them somewhere in the room. 

Harry was aware of himself sucking on his skin once more, but paused as a new and interesting thought came to his head. He peered up at the other man through doe-eyes as he pressed a wet kiss between his clavicles and lower, and lower, until open-mouthed kisses were leading a trail over his chest, his scars, the discoloured skin slightly more tender than the rest. He continued, all the way down to his navel, where Harry pressed a lingering peck and proceeded to breathe hotly on the spot. 

He bit his lip at the prospect of what lay beyond and whispered to him, “Can I?” 

Malfoy’s mouth hung open as he stared down at him, his eyes glassy and half-lidded. His lips were a deep pink and swollen from the heavy kissing and biting, a mixed concoction of their saliva making them shine in the white light pouring in from the window. He nodded fervently, appearing as a being right out of one of Harry’s fantasies.

“Yeah?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Malfoy whispered his reply quickly, and Harry felt his face light up. He dipped his fingers underneath the waistband and pulled the underwear right down, his mouth salivating as he watched the man lift his hips in aid. 

Malfoy was not huge — but he must have been told several times that he’s got a pretty good looking cock, because  _ fuck,  _ he  _ did  _ have a good looking cock. It was sturdy, curved ever so slightly and stuck upright, an enticing inch away from Harry’s lips. He gazed down at it, allowed himself to huff a small whine of need and grabbed the base of his length. 

He slid his fingers over the sensitive skin at the head of his cock. Malfoy shuddered, spreading his legs apart further. His fingers nestled deep in Harry’s curls, he smiled down at the sight beneath him and nodded down at Harry to urge him on. He did so, jerking his wrist once to test the waters. He supposed, quickly, that the easiest way to go about this was to think about what he would like when touching himself. 

Harry pressed firmly to the slit on the head of his cock, something he liked to do to himself in the heat of it. He peered up at Malfoy’s reaction and began to circle the head with the pad of his thumb, spreading around the treacle of precum that had made itself present in the midst of their foreplay. He spit into the palm of his hand and wrapped his fingers around the girth, jerking his wrist at a steady pace and stroking the tip with his other hand in sequence. 

“ _ Merde _ ,” Malfoy whispered. 

“That good?” he asked, curious as to his satisfaction.

“Merlin, yes,” he replied, but one of his eyebrows was quirked up. “I know what would be better.”

Harry didn’t have to be a legilimens to understand what he meant by that. He, in turn, raised an eyebrow back to him and ignored the constant thumping that was going off in his chest. This was it. Harry had done some gay things before now, he supposed, but this was it. He was about to put his lips onto a man’s penis, and it didn’t really get much gayer than that, did it? This felt like a rite of passage in a way — a rite of passage into the gay lifestyle.

He internally shrugged at that and took the leap. He took a breath and placed the pad of his tongue onto the underside of Malfoy’s dick, and began to drag it upwards, to the head that was glaring red. It was flattering and encouraging, how hard Malfoy was just because of this; because of  _ him.  _ He thought, almost cockily, whether or not any of the other men had treated him as well as this. See if any bloody Durmstrang students could have Malfoy whining and writhing around like he was right now, he bragged to himself, as he closed his lips around the tip and suckled on it. 

He saw Malfoy press the back of his hand to his forehead as he arched his back and wondered when the last time was that he had received a blowjob off of somebody. Was the relationship that he shared with Logan mutually beneficial? Had he and Logan been together since that night that Harry had caught the two of them? Had Malfoy been with anybody else since then? 

A flourish of jealousy surged through him at the prospect. He knew he didn’t deserve to suffer it; he and Malfoy had never had the conversation about becoming exclusive, though perhaps it was one that they should think about sharing in the near future. The thought urged him, though, to do the best that he could now, so he wouldn’t even dare think about the possibility of sharing a moment like this with anybody else, not when he had him.

Harry was prepared to make this memorable. Mentally bracing himself, he readjusted the angle of his head and screwed his hands into the bedsheets, tightly shutting his eyelids and taking in a deep breath through his nostrils. Without another thought, Harry dove forwards, taking the rest of Malfoy’s length down his throat. For a second, it was wonderful. He could hear the surprised and pleasured yelp from the man beneath him and knew how brilliant it must feel — and then Harry’s own sensations came flooding back to him.

“Oh, Gods!” Malfoy gasped as Harry yanked his head away, freeing his airways and throat after assaulting it so. He retched and coughed with a palm to his chest. 

“Did I do it wrong?” he asked between thick coughs.

“Bloody hell, Potter,” Malfoy said, exasperated. “There is an art to it, you know, you can’t just go straight for it!”

“How was I meant to know that?”

“Because I’ve  _ told  _ you before, in one of our sessions! Do you not listen to a word I say in those things?” 

Harry frowned and skimmed his memory. “I forgot about that,” he said quietly.

“I could tell. Perhaps you’d like to learn from a more hands-on experience?” 

Harry smirked, lowering his head once more and holding up Malfoy’s dick. He pressed his lips to the tip and hummed, awaiting his instructions. Malfoy smiled at him, leaning his head back on the pillow, and began to stroke his thumb over Harry’s forehead. 

“Lower,” Malfoy said to him. Harry moved his dick and pressed his pursed lips to his frenulum, peering up through his eyelashes in search of some confirmation. He grinned when he saw him roll his eyes. “Lower,” he said again. 

He tensed his tongue and swirled it around the head once more, before closing his eyes and pressing another kiss to it, this time to the shaft. He could hear the man whimper quietly, a soft, “ _ Lower, _ ” that drifted all the way down to his ears as he ventured even further with his mouth, streaking a wet line down to the very bottom. He paused, before flattening his tongue out and dragging a thick line all the way back up to the tip.

“Like that?”

“That was… Okay,” Malfoy deduced cockily. “Do you want it in your mouth now, or will you gag again?”

“I didn’t realise—”

He scoffed at him. “Amateur. Want me to show you how it’s done?”

Harry frowned at him, tightened his grip around his dick, and told him, “No.”

Malfoy, Harry thought, was too used to giving, not at all used to receiving. And in retrospect, it was rather ironic to Harry, considering how the man has been brought up to have everything served to him on a silver platter. But Harry wanted to give to him, now, and God forgive him if he didn’t do just that.

He wrapped his lips once more around his cock and this time brought it down to the hilt of his throat, stopping when he knew to stop. He brought his mouth off after a couple moments, allowing himself time to breathe and regain his mindset. He stared up at Malfoy’s face confidently as he spat once more into his palm. He lowered his mouth once more bringing the cock to the back of his throat and stroking what he couldn’t reach with his mouth, with his fingers instead. His other hand ventured further, skimming his fingertips over his balls and applying sweet pressure. 

Malfoy’s sweet whine flew all the way down to his ears and egged him on. He noted the other man’s fingers twisting further into the sheets and his knuckles turning an even lighter shade of white. His eyes were flickering and his hips, Harry could tell, were aching to start jutting up into Harry’s mouth. Harry hollowed his cheeks out and he heard a sharp gasp once more, and all Harry could register after that was a constant voice calling  _ don’t stop, don’t stop!  _ and he wasn’t sure whether or not it was Malfoy that was saying it or Harry’s own psyche, urging him in the right direction. 

Malfoy’s legs shook and his fingers were as white as a sin forgiven when he finally came. The sounds he was making as he did so could have Mrs Weasley keel over and faint, and Harry was surprised that he didn’t faint himself. He remembered what Malfoy had told him, though, and had to make the very split decision: spit, or swallow?

Harry took his cum into his mouth and swallowed it almost on impulse. He kept his lips around his cock through his orgasm and gulped it all down at the end, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after raising his head. Malfoy was gazing at him with glassy eyes that seemed to be filled with admiration. 

He coughed between his words as he asked, “How was that?”

Malfoy’s smile was drunk and giddy and it reminded Harry of the night before. He suddenly wanted to kiss him again. 

“There’s room for improvement,” he teased quietly. “But that was to be expected.”

Harry shook his head and pushed himself back up on his arms, crawling up Malfoy’s body to press their lips together. He rolled his eyes when Malfoy quickly pulled away. 

“You just sucked me off,” he said with mild disgust. 

“Yeah, and you still haven’t brushed your teeth,” he quipped back, and kissed him again anyway. He didn’t pull away this time, and Harry pushed further, settling his legs either side of one of Malfoy’s and grinding down. 

He came like that; rutting against Malfoy’s thigh as they kissed one another deeply, Harry’s back beginning to hurt by the very end of it. When he did finish, it was with Malfoy smiling, and Harry panting against his wet lips. 

“Mm,” Harry mumbled. “Good morning indeed.”

“Everybody else stayed in tents in the field, didn’t they?” Malfoy said. “How do we explain you and I coming down from your bedroom?”

He frowned for a second, thinking, before throwing one of the sheets and one of the pillows from his bed onto the ground. “You slept on the floor,” he told him. 

“That’s incredibly rude of you,” Malfoy said in return, stretching his arms above his head as Harry reached for his wand to vanish the remnants of their morning escapades. “To make a guest sleep on the floor.”

“Yeah? Suck it, Malfoy.”

“If you insist, Potter.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him as he reached for the water, taking deep gulps to soothe his sore throat. He was aching all over and badly needed a shower; his body smelled of pond and sweat and alcohol still. Mrs Weasley’s cooking was haunting him. He couldn’t yet smell it, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the smell would waft up the stairs and taunt his nostrils, and his stomach. He groaned at the prospect of food; desperately wanting some but not certain on whether or not he would be able to keep it down. 

The unknown was also taunting him. Whether or not Malfoy and himself had done anything scandalous last night hung above both of their heads and worried Harry to the pit of his gut. He didn’t know whether he was ready for the news to be out to the world yet, after all, and he knew that he really wasn’t one for subtlety. 

“Harry?” a voice called from outside the door. Two knocks from soft knuckles, as if they were trying to keep as quiet as possible for everybody else in the house. Harry’s heart leapt, and his head turned entirely too quickly from the door to Malfoy, who was apprehensively sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed. 

“One second,” Harry called back to the door. He waited nervously, hands slick with sweat as he watched Malfoy traipse over to the makeshift bed on the floor and lay down in it. The ferocious look he gave Harry before he shut his eyes to pretend to sleep shouldn’t have made his cock twitch. 

He made his way to the door (after pulling on a much needed dressing gown) with one backwards look at the lump of blankets on the ground and opened it a little, squinting in the light of the corridor. “Ron?” he asked, and then, “Holy shit,  _ Ron.” _

“I know!” he exclaimed back, pushing inside the room and sitting down in a panic on the bed. Harry pressed his lips together firmly and shut the door with a soft click, trying not to snort. 

“So… Should I say congratulations now?” Harry teased, and Ron dug his fingers into his hair in exasperation. 

“It won’t come off, Harry, I’ve tried everything,” he choked out. “If mum sees me like this, I’m toast!”

“Okay, relax,” he told him, eyeing his forehead and proceeding to heed his oncoming laughter. Written in bright pink, thick letters across Ron’s freckled forehead was the word  **ENGAGED** , smudged and yet not at all eroded. 

“I can't relax. I’m never drinking again,” he huffed, rubbing his eyes and falling onto his back atop of the sheets. 

“Does Hermione know about this?”

“No… She’s still asleep. But I don’t want her to see either!”

“Why?” 

“Well… I’m kind of hoping she’ll have forgotten all the business about me proposing… Wasn’t exactly how I wanted it to happen, after all…” he admitted sheepishly. Harry could understand what he meant. 

“Right. Well… She’s probably the only one here who’ll know what to do, though… Her, or your mum. Sorry, mate.” Harry shrugged. “I’m guessing you’ve tried  _ finite _ , and stuff.”

“ _ Finite, Scourgify…  _ I’ve tried everything.” 

“Will you two keep the volume down?” came Malfoy’s drawling voice from the floor. Harry’s hand twisted into a fist on his thigh. He could see Ron’s face contort with confusion.

“Malfoy?” he spluttered, sitting back upright. He stared at the bare body on display on the ground. 

“I was sleeping,” he lied.

“S… Sorry?” Ron replied, lost. “What are you doing in Harry’s room?”

“I must admit, I don’t remember,” Malfoy said, laying on his stomach, the muscles and bones in his back on display, the sheets draped just above the curve of his arse, downwards. Harry tried not to stare. “Though I do remember Potter here refusing to give up his bed for his guest.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, deadpan. 

“You know you have a tent outside, right?” Ron asked.

“Which I was to share with my  _ mother _ ,” Malfoy scoffed. “I’m eighteen, Weasley.”

“You have different rooms!” 

“Fuck off, ginger,” Malfoy grunted, “Just to soothe my curiosity, you have tried soap and water?”

“Of course I have!” Ron huffed. 

“Oh, you’re not completely daft, then.” 

“Says you, you little c—”

“Right!” Harry interrupted, slapping his hands onto his thighs and moving to stand between the two of them. “Who is it helping to argue?”

“I certainly don’t mind it,” Malfoy told him.

“He’s the one who keeps being so annoying,” Ron spat back. 

“Well, excuse me for remembering your lack of intellect.”

“We’ll see if you have any intellect in a bloody minute!”

“Both of you, shut up!” Harry shouted to them, flicking Ron in the forehead and kicking Malfoy lightly in the ribs. Ron pouted and folded his arms, whilst Malfoy rolled his eyes and turned his head away from them both. Harry sighed. “Ron, go and see Fleur,” he told him, after examining his now pink-stained fingernail. “It looks like that’s lipstick on your head.”

“It is?” Ron asked, looking up as if he would be able to see it. “You think she’d be able to help me?”

He shrugged. “She’s the only girl I know that wears makeup a lot.”

Ron nodded, giving Harry a pat on his shoulder as he retreated to the door. Malfoy didn’t acknowledge him as he left, nor did he acknowledge Harry at all once they were once again alone together. 

“Malfoy,” he said, once he was sure that Ron had left the other side of the door. Malfoy didn’t respond to him; just shifted on the floor slightly, the sheets slipping down and revealing more skin. Harry stepped towards him, kneeling beside him. “Malfoy,” he said again.

“Mmf,” was all that Malfoy bothered to say. 

“You can’t blame me for stopping you insulting my best friend,” Harry told him.

“Mmf.”

“You know what this means, though? We didn’t do anything last night to give ourselves away.”

Malfoy turned to look at him then, eyes narrow. “Or he doesn’t remember it.”

Harry sighed, placing a hand onto Malfoy’s back and dragging it down, down, down, with no complaint from the red-faced man until Harry was pulling back the sheets. He had revealed his behind, but as soon as he tried to pull them down further, and caught a flash of something a sickly pale lilac colour, Malfoy had reached back and caught his hand in a flash. His other hand was pulling the sheets back up, his body twisted so that he could once again see the scar on his chest, and it looked oddly familiar… He looked back down to Malfoy’s legs, his mouth slightly agape.

“Malfoy,” he whispered, unsure of what he was going to say after that. 

“I don’t want to,” Malfoy said urgently, a wisp of desperation and anger in his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about that now.”

After a moment, Harry nodded, though his chest and his mind were racing a hundred miles a minute. He looked at him closely and reached down to stroke his hair. 

“Can I do anything?” he asked.

Malfoy laughed dryly. “Stop being so sentimental. You’re not my boyfriend, Potter,” he said, and he pushed himself up to sit. “Can I borrow some clothes?”

“Right,” Harry said croakily, his fist curling on his thigh, though his heart had for some reason just sunk to the bottom of his stomach. His chest aching, he walked to the wardrobe and began to fish through the clothing items that he thought would remind him least of himself.

*

Downstairs was busy. People were popping in and out of the kitchen and living room, and many people had set up what looked like barbecues out in the garden, having not left yet. The air smelled delicious, though Harry still felt sick for a number of reasons.

Everybody was treating Harry like normal. Nobody spoke a word about him and Malfoy, a word about his sexuality, and nobody was looking at him funny. Nobody, indeed, except for Pansy fucking Parkinson. 

He wondered how she managed to look so beautiful a night after drinking, and whether or not she had reapplied her makeup or if it still looked that pristine from the night before. But her smile, however full of dark lipstick, was knowing and cunning, and Harry couldn’t keep his mind on much else as she followed him with her smart gaze from her seat.

Eventually, he couldn’t take much more of it. He equipped his plate of bacon and egg and, tongue in cheek, walked over to take a seat next to her. 

“Good afternoon,” she said to him, even her voice smug. 

“What do you want?” he said in return.

“Now, that’s not a very polite way to greet a lady.” Her face was still in a smirk, though, despite her tone changing to one that was whiny and faux-sad. She cleared her throat and unfolded her legs, before crossing them in the opposite order they’d taken before. Her gaze was flickering between Harry’s eyes as if she was trying to work something out just by looking at him. “So, you shagged Draco?”

Harry’s eyes darted around. Nobody was looking. He looked down, rubbed the back of his neck, and said, “No, actually.”

“You want to, then,” she corrected herself. “I can tell you want to fuck him.”

He shushed her, looking around again. “There are people around!”

“ _ Muffliato, _ ” she cast, raising up her wand for a second. She raised an eyebrow. “Better?”

Harry shrugged. His eyes were still darting around. “Sure.”

“I should have known from when you took my seat in Defence. There was no other reason for you to have sat by him and not your darling best friends. And don’t,” she interrupted him, holding up a hand to his face as he opened his mouth to intervene, “don’t try to make up something about inter-house unity, because we both know that that would be bullshit.

“So, how far have you gone with one another? Should I call Draco’s mother and have her arrange a wedding yet? Oh, don’t look so red, Potter. It’s only sex.”

_ It’s only sex,  _ Harry repeated to himself. His jaw clenched. 

“I don’t think it’s any of your business, really,” he told her, his eyes slightly narrowed and forehead puckered. 

“No,” she said, gleaming with deviltry still. “You kissed him at midnight.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Will you deny it?” she asked. Harry said nothing. She cocked her head. “I don’t know what you and Draco are up to, Potter. I won’t pretend like I do. If you want to fuck him, go ahead, but you hurt him in any way at all, and I’ll—”

“Hand me over to Voldemort?” Harry said, a lacklustre smile upon his face now. She startled at the words. He continued, “I would never even  _ think  _ of doing anything—”

“Tell that to the scar he has from when you cut him open,” she snarled. She glared down at him, lips pursed as though she’d been chewing a lemon. “You might think that that’s in the past.  _ You  _ don’t have to deal with it. He  _ cries.  _ That’s what happens with scars from curses.”

“Really?” Harry laughed bitterly. “Is it? I never knew. Not like I’ve ever been privy to a curse in my life. We’ve already spoken about his scars.”

“All of them?” she asked. Then she shook her head. “Thought not. If you’re like this with him, I can see why he hasn’t told you. Like I said, if you hurt him, if you throw even  _ one  _ spell at him, you’re done.”

She walked away from him, and Harry could tell that they’d drawn attention to themselves even with the  _ muffliato  _ that she’d thrown up around them. As he watched the irritating woman stomp away, he couldn’t help but gloss over what she’d said in his head. The scars. The pain. The fact that all of this time, he’s not only been throwing spells at Malfoy, but he’s also been throwing  _ unforgivables  _ at him. 

She’d probably castrate Harry if she knew about all that.

He sighed and gave himself a mouthful of egg and bacon. Rubbing his eyes with his other hand, he balanced his plate on his knee and glared purposefully to one point on the floor. Malfoy’s scars still hurt? He wondered if that was heightened by the proximity between the two of them – as was with Harry and Voldemort before. Did it pain him to be near him? 

Malfoy was across the room. When Harry looked at him, he was smiling. His plate was almost empty. He picked at a roast tomato and laughed at something that Theodore Nott was saying to him, eyes glazed as he peered at him through his eyelashes. Why did Harry’s throat close up at that? Why did his eyes sting?

He still needed some hangover potion.


	5. Please Help Ron Weasley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for missing uploading yesterday! had some family issues. everything is good now, though!  
> thank you guys so so much for continuing to read this and being so supportive!

Harry didn’t see Malfoy again until they were back in school. They didn’t say goodbye to each other on New Year’s day, and he hadn’t seen him on the platform, nor the train there. The journey up had been mostly filled with laughter and thinking of things that  _ weren’t  _ Malfoy; Ron, Hermione, Luna, Ginny, and Neville accompanying him in his compartment and making him and Neville feel like they were on some kind of weird triple date. 

He didn’t say anything to the other man when he saw him in the common room; he was with Pansy, and that was a factor, too. She kept glaring daggers at him from across the room whenever Harry happened to peer over. He didn’t know how much Malfoy knew about the conversation they’d shared. How much Zabini or Nott knew about anything. 

It was a while before they spoke. When they did, Harry wasn’t sure that it could even be considered speaking, really. A glance — towards Harry, then towards the staircase. He could’ve misinterpreted the look, could have easily mistaken it as an invitation when it wasn’t. But Harry didn’t want to pass up any chances.

He excused himself from his conversation with Luna and Dean and tried to walk as normally as he could towards the staircase up to the boys’ dormitories without bringing too much attention to himself. It would be a different story if he was still sharing a common room with all of the other years; he still got fawned over frequently, at least one person always ready to ask his opinion on something, or if they could  _ please have a photograph with him, Mr Potter, please!  _

But the eighth years were okay with Harry; used to him. In fact, he would say that they might just find him rather boring now. He didn’t mind. He liked it like that.

Then two hands were upon his chest. Harry felt himself get pushed back into the wall opposite the doors and was momentarily too shocked to even register who was doing it — whose hands were upon his heart and whose thigh was wedged between his legs; whose lips were upon his faster than a Snitch. 

“Are you going to stand there all evening?” came the lips’ voice, breath wound in the words. “It’s been too damn long for you to dawdle.”

Harry licked his lips and allowed himself to be taken away with the stream of hands and lips. Soon, they retired to Harry’s bedroom, in favour against the exposed hallway. They exchanged words, quick and filled with breath, but they did not speak. He wished they could speak.

*

“Fuck _ , _ ” Malfoy whispered, pressing his fingers against his lips soon after, his eyes screwed up with intensity. His other hand, which you could argue was even more preoccupied than the one pressed to his threatening mouth, was buried deep in Harry’s hair. “Oh,  _ fuck.” _

Harry removed his mouth from his partner’s neck, holding it still in his grasp. “Quiet,” he hummed to him. “We’re not exactly hidden, are we?”

“I beg to differ,” Malfoy said in return, his grip on Harry’s curls tightening. “But I might actually start begging if you don’t continue.”

“Not here,” Harry said, his head whipping around to peer at the rickety door, light streaming in around it. He could hear the laughter of some students pass by. “We’ll get caught.”

“Then hurry up and finish!” he whispered dramatically, bucking his hips up into Harry’s fist. Harry could hear a quiet  _ mmf!  _ noise as Malfoy’s head hit the wall, and Harry couldn’t help but slip out a grin before he bent his head down and licked around the head of his cock again. 

Once Malfoy was spent and had made sure that Harry was finished as well, the two of them sat side by side, attempting to catch their breath whilst still watching the doorway anxiously. Harry couldn’t say that things had been any different between the two of them than beforehand, but there was… something. Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, and he supposed that it was really all in his head. There was the nagging feeling in his chest that told him that this wasn’t  _ enough.  _ That it could be better. That it should be better. 

He rolled his head to examine the man next to him, whose eyes were softly shut and whose lips were parted slightly, helping him breathe, and he asked, “Did Parkinson talk to you?”

He heard the hitch in the breathing before he saw the slightest reaction on his expression. Malfoy slowly opened his eyes and impressed his gaze upon Harry curiously. “We talk often,” he said.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he sighed. “I’m sorry for her behaviour. Truly. She shouldn’t have ever spoken to you like that.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t care about how she spoke to me. You do know that she’d murder me if she found out about what we’ve been doing?”

Malfoy scoffed. “I think she has a fair idea.”

“I don’t mean —” He gestured his hand between the two of them, “—  _ this.  _ I mean with our sessions. The Unforgivables.”

He watched the face opposite slide into a look of… worry? “You’re not going to stop helping me, are you?”

“No,” Harry said at once, his eyes widening as he did so. “But… It just doesn’t seem to be working for you.”

“I’m trying. You know that I’m trying,” Malfoy said, almost desperately. His eyes looked betrayed. “My fucking best.”

“I know! I know.” Harry nodded quickly. “I’m not saying you haven’t been trying.”

“That’s what it sounds like.”

“Malfoy.”

“Potter,” he mocked.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. “Maybe it would be better if you knew what to focus on, and what

to not focus on.”

A pause, and then, “What do you mean?”

Harry rolled his head to look at him. “I know you know the theory on how to do it. But… If there’s some kind of, well, trauma that is associated with the curse, it might be affecting how you resist.”

“Trauma,” Malfoy repeated dully. “We’re not all broken, Potter.”

“Being traumatised doesn’t make you broken,  _ Malfoy, _ ” he said with a huff. “But, you know, if you actually try to talk about stuff, I think it might make you feel better.”

He watched the other man purse his lips, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Are you asking to be my mind healer?”

He shrugged, and answered, “Sure,” without even necessarily thinking. He wouldn’t mind that, to be truthful. 

Malfoy’s eyes remained on him for a second, before he let out a forlorn chuckle. “We’ve gotten this far without discussing the War, Potter. Let’s not start now.”

“Why?” Harry asked. “We’re not going to be able to ignore it forever.”

“We won’t need to.”

He tried not to let it show how much that stung. The breath that he took rattled, and heard his own teeth grind. Why not? He knew why not; he just didn’t want to face Malfoy saying it with no veil. 

Instead, he asked, “Do you plan on leaving Britain?”

Malfoy frowned. “No?”

“Then you and I are going to continue to know each other,” he said. “Whether you like it or not.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“Maybe it is,” he teased, before softly shaking his head. He rested his hand on Malfoy’s thigh. “Malfoy, all I’m saying is that if you want to get this right, I think you need to let it all out there.”

“And did you?” the man asked. “Had you let out all of your emotions before you were able to resist it?”

“Well, in a way, yes,” Harry replied, shrugging lightly. “Meeting Sirius and Remus — it was good to speak to them about stuff; about my parents. And Ron and Hermione have always been there for me. Sometimes I snapped at them. But, you know, I didn’t really have any reason to  _ want  _ to resist the curse. Nothing other than the obvious, anyway. So, it’s different. I’m not saying that it’s necessarily a  _ bad  _ type of different, but—”

“Potter, you’re rambling.” 

“Sorry.”

He watched Malfoy draw in a deep breath, his leg bouncing nervously, his eyes glazed over. He was deciding something. Harry remained quiet. A gaggle of students, undoubtedly late for class, scuttled past them in a flurry of laughs. Malfoy shut his eyes.

“It was Greyback,” he said suddenly, almost making Harry jump. He was beginning to become so used to the silence. He almost wished that it was still there.

He choked out, “Greyback?” as a dense, futile response, his mind filling quickly with thoughts of Bill and Remus.

“Yes,” he said, and he sounded like he was going to be sick. “I don’t — This is—”

“Hard. This is hard. I know.” 

“Can’t I just — I could just… show you.”

“Show me?” Harry asked, his head piquing curiously. “How do you mean?”

“I could — I suppose…” His face twisted with reluctance. “Potter, have you heard of a Pensieve?”

“Oh,” he whispered. “Yeah, I have. You would be comfortable with that?”

Malfoy shut his eyes. His breath shook as his chest rose and fell, and his head shook slightly as he told him, “Would you?” 

Harry blinked. “Would I?”

“We all suffer with our own memories, Potter. You don’t need to add somebody else’s.” 

Harry felt his chest become heavier, his head turning ever so slightly towards the other man. His nose pressed to the soft blond hair beneath it, the smell of apples flooding his senses. His fingers twitched to get closer to Malfoy, to rub his knee or to hold his hand. To comfort him. He opened his mouth to speak, though unsure of what words would come out.

“I wouldn’t mind. But I would prefer it if you just told me. It’s good to talk about these things, you know. If you can’t even mention it, how can you ever expect to recover? That’s… That’s what I’ve always thought.”

“You can talk too, you know,” Malfoy said. Harry couldn’t recall ever hearing his voice so gentle. “I know that I mustn’t be your first choice to discuss trauma, but… I just wanted you to know.”

Harry took a deep breath. He raised his hand slowly, nudging his finger beneath Malfoy’s pointy chin. His head raised obsequiously, his lips parted, his eyes scanning every inch of Harry’s face. 

“I know,” Harry told him. “Thank you.” 

“Yes,” Malfoy whispered, and his face conveyed something akin to fear.

He huffed a short laugh. “Don’t look like that,” he said, and smiled as he saw the edges of Malfoy’s mouth tug upwards.

“Like what?”

“Like I might kill you?”

“It’s not that,” he told him, shaking his head. He was still gazing into Harry’s eyes. “It’s strange to be talking about this with you. I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Harry’s gaze flicked down to his lips for a moment, before rekindling their stare. “You’re not dreaming,” he murmured to him, and he saw only the slimmest ring over grey iris, overpowered by the girth of pupil, before he was met with the gentlest of lips on his. 

Malfoy was kissing him tenderly, his cold fingers trailing up Harry’s neck and jawline, fingertips tracing his stubble. He was almost too taken aback by the softness of it all to respond to the kiss for a moment, before acting in turn equally as benign. The man was making Harry’s heart feel light again, butterflies spreading in his stomach. 

He had to keep himself from completely giving in and smiling, baring teeth to ruin the kiss. But he was more than happy, grinning slightly, and he placed his hands carefully onto his partner’s waist. His thumbs ran circles on bare skin, sweetly moving their lips together. The lack of heat and immediacy in the kiss spurred something deep inside of Harry, and he didn’t want to think about it too hard. 

“Sorry,” Malfoy whispered, stroking Harry’s cheek with his thumb. “I can’t go again. My stamina isn’t that strong.”

“That’s fine,” he replied against his lips. “I can’t either. I’m fine with this.”

“Just kissing me?”

“Yeah. Just kissing you.”

Malfoy stared from one eye to the other, as if seeking for some kind of lie. He seemed to be sated, as he leant forwards once more, conjoining their lips. Malfoy’s hair was soft to the touch, Harry noted, and realised that the man must not have slathered any product into it that morning. He found that he rather preferred it like this; easier to slip his fingers through and caress. He liked it softer. 

But all good things must come to an end, Harry figured, as he leaned forwards into the kiss only to have the other man jerk away as if burnt. It was a flurry of a moment; he was taken off guard by each thing that happened in a sequence. Malfoy pulling away so suddenly had left him feeling confused and vulnerable, but the sudden flood of light that erupted into the small storeroom they were sharing caused a tsunami of fear to explode in his chest. He barely had time to react to either one of those factors before he was confronted with the third: Malfoy’s hand drawing back and laying a hard slap upon his face. 

“What the fuck, Malfoy?” he huffed, shoving the man away from him so that he landed on his bum a couple of metres away. 

“So don’t provoke me again!” he shouted, and Harry could see some desperation in his eyes. Once he felt as if reality had returned to him, he arched his head up, one hand shielding his eyes against the bright new light. There was somebody there; a man’s silhouette stood, looming over them ominously, and they shivered at the sound of a harsh  _ mrrowww. _

“Well, well, well…” Harry heard the all too familiar, ugly drawl. “What have we here? Students, fighting? Very immature of you…”

“Filch,” Malfoy gasped. “He attacked me!”

“You, what?” Harry scoffed. “He clearly hit me first, sir, you saw him!”

The old man’s upper lip curled into a semi-satisfied grimace. “I saw a fight between students. Students of different houses. Oh, dear… The Headmistress won’t be happy...”

“Headmistress?” he blanched. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Sir, it’s honestly not —”

“Up with you,” he commanded, and Mrs Norris hissed at his feet. Both he and Malfoy pushed themselves up. They shuffled awkwardly, a metre or two apart. 

Malfoy attempted several times to meet Harry’s eye on the journey up to McGonagall. Students giggled and pointed at them as they were led through the halls and up the staircases, whispering to each other about the possible reasoning for their needing punishment. It wasn’t a difficult conclusion; they both looked tousled and roughed up, panting like madmen and refusing to communicate with one another. Within minutes, Harry was sure that the whole school would be aware of the supposed fight that had passed between them. 

No, McGonagall would not be happy. In all honesty, she probably would have words with Filch, once himself and Malfoy were done with. It was one thing having a fight between the two arguably most important people from the eighth year opposing houses, but having that fact marched throughout the castle for everyone to gawk at was another. 

And bloody hell, they were gawked at. Harry felt a sort of shame bubble in his gut. Were the younger years really that reliant on the fact that Harry could get over years of disagreement? He knew that he was a sort of role model to the Wizarding World, but must his every move be watched? Examined? 

“Mr Potter. Mr Malfoy.” Headmistress McGonagall sat at her desk, sipping a teacup of scorching tea that was fogging up her glasses. She licked her lips and set it back into its saucer. “Thank you, Mr Filch.”

“Caught them fighting,” Filch said needlessly. “Over in one of the broom cupboards.”

“I’m aware,” she told him. “The portraits are truly terrible for gossip.” 

Harry tilted his head to look at the wall of previous Headmasters. They were all there, blatantly pretending to be asleep; including Dumbledore. 

“What’s their punishment?” the caretaker asked eagerly. “Cleaning the bedpans? The trophy room? There’s a room in the dungeons that’s not been spick’n span since the fifties.”

“I will decide the course of action after I’ve had a word with these two gentlemen. Mr Filch, you may leave. Please, close the door.”

He looked distraught by the news, and he begrudgingly left without the satisfaction of knowing what would be done to give them their discipline. Mrs Norris trailed behind him, huge red eyes not leaving Harry until the last second. 

McGonagall cleared her throat, and Harry gulped. 

“Well,” she exasperated. “Who would like to speak first?”

“It was my fault,” Harry told her quickly. “I was winding him up on purpose. I deserved to be hit.”

He heard Malfoy’s sharp intake of breath, and then, “No. He’s lying. It was completely my fault. I’ve been aggravating him for weeks.”

“I see,” she hummed. “And what exactly were you saying to Mr Malfoy to make him enact physical violence on you, Potter?”

“I— ” Harry hesitated. His eyes flickered to Malfoy, saw his desperate eyes. He clenched his jaw. “I was asking him about the War.”

She blinked at him, before tilting her head towards his neighbour. “Is this true?”

“Yes,” Malfoy replied immediately. “It’s a sensitive subject.”

“Indeed, it is,” McGonagall agreed, sitting back in her chair. She hummed to herself for a second, contemplative, before picking up her teacup again. “Boys, are you aware of the example that you two must set for the rest of the school?”

“Yes,” they replied at once.

“Good. That is why I am not going to take action on this. Otherwise, the rumours will be proven true, and we don’t want these lies to get out, do we?”

Harry furrowed his brow. “Sorry?”

“Potter, I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Of… Of course not,” he said quietly. “But —”

“Do you two think you’re the first couple to be caught in a broom cupboard?” she asked, and Harry’s heart felt like it was caught in his throat. “The first to try and explain it away as a fight?”

“I— I’m sure that I don’t —” Malfoy stumbled over his words, and he was bright red when Harry looked at him. 

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell a soul,” she told them both earnestly, sitting up straight once more. “I do not hold silly prejudices. However, I am going to take five points from both Gryffindor and Slytherin for public indecency.”

“Professor,” Harry said quickly. “We weren’t. It’s not what you think.”

She gazed at him, and let out a long sigh. “Mr Potter, look at Mr Malfoy, and tell me what you see.”

Harry frowned. He turned to look at him. What did he see? He saw a man dishevelled to the heavens, who looked like he might cry. He saw a man who was pink enough to rival a Weasley sunburn, and whose clothes weren’t as neat as usual. He saw… He saw his utter stupidity, right there, plain as day and not hidden for shit.

“Oh, fuck,” he cursed, and couldn’t bring himself to explain when Malfoy stared at him with alarm. 

“Mr Potter!” McGonagall scolded. 

“Sorry. Oh, shit. Malfoy, I– I’m sorry.”

“What?” he asked through gritted teeth, his eyes like venom, before he managed to follow the man’s gaze and slap a hand to his neck. “Oh, Merlin’s bloody beard, Potter!”

“I said that I’m sorry!”

“Sorry? You’re an animal, I swear! You do realise that the entire school would have seen this? That we just walked through many, many students on our way here?”

“It will be dealt with, Mr Malfoy,” McGonagall told him softly. “We’ll come up with a satisfactory explanation and it will be fine.”

Malfoy bit down his extended shouts, shut his eyes for a moment, before replying, “Thank you, Headmistress.”

“I trust that you boys will be more careful in the future?” she inquired, a raised eyebrow pressing in on Harry’s conscience. 

“Yes, Miss.”

“I must admit that I didn’t quite see this coming.”

“Neither did we,” Harry confessed. 

“Yes. Well. Make sure you boys are safe. Need I go down to ask Madam Pomfrey to talk to you both?”

“No!” they both said quickly. 

Malfoy forced a queasy smile. “Thank you, though.”

“Of course. Both of you, on your way, then. I don’t want you late for your next lesson.” Her tone was stern, but Harry could see the small beginnings of a smirk sneaking onto her face. He nodded at her politely, before both he and Malfoy turned to leave. 

“Thanks, Miss,” he called back to her.

“Oh, and Potter?” 

He paused at the threshold. She was definitely smirking now. “Yes?” he asked.

“Do zip up your trousers before you bestow yourself upon the school again.”

“Fuck!”

*

“Fuck,” Malfoy grunted, glaring at his reflection. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’ll go away. It’s not permanent.”

“It’s not permanent,” the other man mocked in a high pitched voice, grabbing his wand and pointing it at his own neck. 

“Whoa, whoa!” Harry held out his hands, hurrying forwards. “Careful.”

“I’m not a child,” he told him, stare as sharp as a knife. “I’m not going to kill myself. I need to get this off.”

Harry sighed, resigning to fold his arms and lean against the sink next to him. “You didn’t mind it when I was doing it,” he said.

“Shut up,” was the gracious reply he received. 

“At least it’s still cold out. You’ll have an excuse to wear a scarf again.”

“Merlin, at least this time isn’t as bad as then. Those were the most embarrassing weeks of my life.”

“Terribly sorry,” Harry huffed.

“Good.”

Harry peered around the empty bathroom for a moment. Myrtle didn’t seem to be around. Either that, or she was in one of these drainpipes, just listening. He wouldn’t put it past her. He redirected his gaze to Malfoy’s neck once again; the pretty dark purple blooming against his canvas skin like a dahlia. He licked his lips and locked one of his ankles over the other. 

“You could just keep it,” he suggested. At Malfoy’s infuriated silence, he added, “Nobody will know that it was by me.”

“So, what? We can have people thinking that I’m a slut who can’t keep a record of who has fucked me? What am I meant to say when people ask?”

He shrugged. “Just say that you want to keep their identity a secret. That’s not even technically a lie.”

Malfoy scowled, snapped his head around, and grabbed Harry by both of his wrists. “Fuck you,” he said quietly, yet heated in the weight of Harry’s confused silence, and he kissed him. 

It was urgent. Malfoy crowded him against the sink and Harry felt the freezing surface of the mirror bite his scalp; the faucet of the sink pulling up his shirt from behind. Malfoy ran his cold hands up from his wrists to Harry’s jaw, tilting his head back to press their lips together over and over, getting progressively more wet and more open, until Harry’s fingers grabbed onto Malfoy’s hips tightly and dragged him in. 

Malfoy’s fingernails dug into the skin on his neck and he gasped at it, chasing his mouth as it tugged away from him again. It didn’t return, though, and instead planted itself upon Harry’s neck. A hand was dragging itself down his torso, unbuckling the trousers that Harry had hurried to do back up not twenty minutes ago. 

The wetness of Malfoy’s lips against one of the pulse points on his skin was distracting, to say the least, and for a moment he wondered why Malfoy ever complained when he did this to him. The suction made his breath release in short bursts and the wafts of the apple-scented shampoo from the head just below his nose was enough to make him bite down on his lip hard. 

If he could count the number of times that he’d fantasised over Malfoy’s lips then there would be a serious breach in the laws of mathematics. It wasn’t quite as satisfying as having them wrapped pursely around the head of his cock, but having them all over his throat (with his  _ hand  _ around his cock) was coming up as a close second, no matter how the two of them had found a shared infatuation for snogging. 

Harry’s hand was just travelling to his partner’s behind when he pulled away, panting, his eyes drawn to the patch of skin that he had just left. His pupils were so dilated, and his lips a flushed and swollen pink. 

“There,” Malfoy said breathlessly, smugly marvelling at his handiwork. “Payback.” 

Harry cleared his throat and turned to look in the mirror himself, tilting his head in various directions to get the best look at it. He rather liked it, he found. It was something to remind him of the other man; not that he could tell him that. 

“Congratulations,” he said instead. “Both of us having hickeys is definitely less suspicious.”

“Oh, shut up. It’s done now. How do you like it?”

“It’s hot,” he commented truthfully, poking it. “You should do it more often.”

Malfoy folded his arms. “You were supposed to be annoyed.”

“How can I be?” he asked as a small grin etched its way onto his face. “Maybe I’m just happy that you didn’t actually want to hit me.”

His partner scoffed, turning his nose up at him. “Oh, I definitely  _ wanted to. _ ”

“Hm, you did, did you?”

“Of course.” He nodded. “It was the perfect excuse. And still,  _ you  _ pushed me over, with no prompting!”

“You were on top of me, hit me, and Filch was there, Malfoy. What was I supposed to do? Kiss you again?”

Malfoy looked as though he contemplated the offer for a moment, before shaking his head and sighing. “I don’t even remember what we’re talking about.”

“Oh,” he said. “Um. We were talking about… you and, you know, Greyback.”

A sharp glare. “I meant  _ now.  _ Not before.”

“Oh,” he said again dully. “Sorry, sorry. That was stupid.” 

Silence. Harry looked up at him curiously. There was a soft look on Malfoy’s face, as though apprehensive; thoughtful. He wasn’t looking at Harry. 

“Can I see you later?” he asked. 

Harry blinked, and answered immediately, “Yes. Where?”

“Your room?”

He gulped. Licked his lips. Nodded. Said, “Yes, of course,” and didn’t let his mind wander far. He smiled at Malfoy when he nodded back and held in a gasp when his pale hand stretched out to rest – just for a fleeting, wonderful moment – on Harry’s wrist. When Malfoy left the bathroom with a face that was redder than beforehand, Harry didn’t overanalyse it, but he did watch him leave.

And he did jump out of his bloody skin when Myrtle popped up, giggling hysterically, from the sink.

*

“ _ Harry Potter!” _

Harry cringed at the sternness in her tone, hands lifting to cover his face and subconsciously shielding himself from the upcoming wrath he could sense himself seeing in the next few minutes. 

“Harry!” it came again.

The common room was nowhere near crowded, with dinner just around the corner, but Harry could still feel the pressing burden of numerous eyes digging into his head. The attention made him flush. He curled up in his seat. 

“Yes, Hermione?” he mumbled.

“You were — Were you — For Heaven’s sake, sit up and look at me when I’m talking to you!” 

“I’d do as she says, mate,” came Ron’s two cents. “She’s in a wicked mood.”

“I am, indeed! I thought things were going okay? I thought — especially after New Years, that —”

“Hermione,” Harry said, standing up and awkwardly wringing his hands together. His instinct was to place a hand on her shoulder, but right about now it felt like that would perhaps burn it off. “Can we discuss this in my room?”

“Fine,” she accepted, blowing a few strands of hair out of her reddened face, scowl permanently on her lips and brows furrowed to darken her eyes. 

The three of them retreated to the sanctuary of Harry’s dorm room, where, thankfully, Hermione had seemed to calm down just a little bit. Ron draped an arm over her shoulders, massaging her skin with his fingers. 

They’d called off the unofficial engagement, as far as Harry was concerned. Ron ended up unable to remove the lipstick from his forehead, even with all the help that Fleur attempted to give, and he resorted to asking Hermione rather than face the look of disappointment on his mother’s face. She’d been able to get rid of it (of course she had) and apparently told him,  _ Soon, soon, when we’ve finished school and are stable, you daft, lovely man.  _

But since then, it seemed that they’d gotten somehow impossibly closer with one another. It made Harry’s chest ache slightly. He had not the slightest inkling as to why. 

“Right, what am I getting a bollocking for?” he asked, settling himself down onto his bed and allowing a small sigh to escape his lips. 

“Fighting!” Hermione stressed. “Really, Harry? With Malfoy! Really?!”

“I’m surprised, mate,” Ron added. “You two have been rather close lately. Almost friendly.”

“It wasn’t his — It wasn’t — It wasn’t either of our faults, okay?” he replied, going along with the lie rather than exposing his and Malfoy’s steamy escapades in the local broom closet. “We were talking about the war. It got heated. That’s all.”

Ron visibly perked up. “So you two are alright?”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, we’re fine.”

“See, ‘Mione? It’s all fine!” 

“Is it! Must I remind you that your fight was then paraded in front of the entire school?” she exclaimed.

“And that’s my fault?” he said. “You should be ranting at Filch, not me!”

“I’ll rant at you if I want to, Harry Potter,” she said, and Harry knew that there wasn’t really anything that he would be able to do to stop her. “Merlin, I thought that if anything were to have happened, you two would’ve had the sense to do it somewhere private!”

“It was private. And it wasn’t even really a fight! Do you see any bruises on me? Or on him? We’re both fine.” 

“Er,” Ron said, and that was when Harry felt a cold chill run up his spine. “Actually, mate, you do have a little… On your neck…”

Harry lifted his hand to his throat. Gulped. Inwardly cursed Malfoy before realising that he’d put him through the very same situation numerous times. “Well,” he mumbled, feeling his face heat up with a horrible redness. “I don’t. Um.”

“Who the hell gave you that whopper? Is it the bloke you were writing to on Christmas?” Ron asked. Harry wished he wouldn’t. And then, suddenly: “Oh, shit! Hermione didn’t —”

“Hermione knows,” he told him, a soft smile covering his face. “But I would’ve smacked you in the balls if she didn’t.”

Ron grinned an abashed smile. “You’d never.”

Hermione, however, wasn’t sharing the affection. “ _ Hermione  _ is right here and doesn’t appreciate being spoken about as if she  _ isn’t!”  _ she told them both. “Honestly. And Harry, really, a love bite? Isn’t it a little…”

“Merlin, you sound like McGonagall,” Ron said, and he and Harry laughed before shrinking in her glare. “I just want to know who gave it to him. Aren’t you curious?”

“Aren’t I…?” she murmured, taking a soft moment before her eyes grew to the size of footballs. Her mouth dropped open, lips parting, 

She knew. Harry knew it. He knew she knew. 

He wasn’t entirely sure as to how; Hermione may be brilliant but she definitely wasn’t psychic, however, it’s not as though they’d been subtle about the whole ordeal —  _ especially  _ not recently. He could have kicked himself. He probably should have. Probably will, right as soon as his two best friends leave the room, he thought. He could only pray to whatever God might be out there that Hermione didn’t blurt it out to Ron at the first chance she got — that was not something Ron needed right then, not considering the shellshock he’d received from only having learnt that he and Malfoy were  _ friends.  _

He could practically see the cogs turning in her brain. From magically learning that the two of them had, at some point, progressed from hating each other’s guts to wanting to be  _ in  _ each other’s guts, she had pieced together what McGonagall had also; Malfoy + Harry + Broom closet + Hickey — No,  _ hickeys _ . Yeah. Simple mathematics, Harry thought. They’re so fucking dumb.

But it also meant that she knew they weren't actually fighting.  _ That  _ was a get out of jail free card from one of Hermione’s rants. 

“Ron,” she said abruptly, though her gaze remained on Harry, a look in her eye that said quite clearly,  _ We will talk about this.  _ “I think Harry’s learnt his lesson. We don’t need to push him. He’s a free bachelor now, isn’t he?”

“Oh, come on. He was owling somebody at Christmas and now he suddenly has a bunch of love-bites? You have a boyfriend!”

“It’s one love-bite, Ron,” Harry sighed. 

“Still!”

“And I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, sure, mate. And I’m secretly Professor Sprout.” Ron rolled his eyes. “I mean, come on, it can’t be that bad that you can’t tell  _ us,  _ surely!”

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” Harry exclaimed. “I’m just — having fun, okay? Being a normal teenager. For once in my bloody life, anyway.”

“Ron,” Hermione said softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm at the look of confrontation on his face. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat. I’m starving. We'll come and speak with you later, Harry.”

Harry nodded his goodbye to them both and groaned as soon as his bedroom door clicked shut. Running his hands through his hair, pulling at the strands and throwing himself back into his pillows, he reflected on their dimwitted efforts to keep this a secret, and reflected on why exactly the ache in his heart is always so bloody prominent when the word  _ boyfriend _ comes up. 

It’s almost as though he’s making himself an aversion to it. A sore spot that’s growing sorer. Did he want a boyfriend? He didn’t know — how could he? He had  _ this  _ with Malfoy, now, didn’t want it to stop for the life of him. He didn’t want anybody else to do the things that he and Malfoy do together — and he and Malfoy… They couldn’t.

Could they?

Harry had readily accepted the sexual attraction that he’d discovered he had for Malfoy. That was easy enough, what with the lingering looks and suggestive comments that Malfoy refused to stop giving him, what with the way that Malfoy sauntered his hips all over the place, the way that his arms were so finely shaped when they stretched up above his head, exhibiting the fine stretch of pale skin previously hidden by his shirt. What with the way he swiped his tongue over his pretty pink lips when desperate for a drink, or for something else. What with the way that his trousers were always on the better side of tight, front  _ and  _ back. 

But to entertain the idea that there may be something more there? Something that extended beyond the realms of sweaty skin and hot breath? Something that pierced the heart instead of the groin? And Harry could feel it begin to ache again, wanted to hit it and tell it to shut up. There wasn’t a possibility, was there? 

Was there?

New Year’s Eve echoed in his head. The thundering crowd declaring the declining numbers on the outside, whilst Malfoy whispered the remaining few, noses nudging against each other, eyes unintentionally fluttering shut. Harry didn’t think he’d ever experienced a moment as — sensuous — romantic — whatever anybody wanted to call it — as that. Of course, there had been fireworks going off in the background. Like a bad muggle romance novel.

And they hadn’t even become intimate that night, despite sharing a bed and becoming stripped of their clothes. Maybe they didn’t need sex to enjoy each other’s company. Maybe —

And yet, wasn’t that what friendship was? Friendship with Malfoy. He would’ve scoffed at those three words not even a few months ago, but now they don’t seem so far from the truth. Harry was finding out more and more about the Malfoy hidden from the world, every day. He had started to discover that he likes such a thing. He’s good company, Harry reflected, remembering the laughs they’ve shared, sat side by side or on top of one another. 

Friendship with Malfoy. The words sent another  _ pang  _ through his sensitive chest and he rolled his eyes at himself. They  _ were  _ friends, that was an undeniable fact at this point in time. But —

Friendship with Malfoy. Why wasn’t that enough?

There was a knock at the door, interrupting his rude train of thought. 

“Come in,” he called, expecting perhaps Hermione to come back and dig into him after pawning Ron off at the dinner table. He had forgotten about his previously made plans.

“Good evening,” Malfoy greeted, settling the door closed behind him. As soon as it clicked, the man pulled off the scarf secure around his neck, threw it carelessly onto the end of Harry’s bed. 

“‘Evening, Malfoy,” Harry replied, a smile unintentionally tugging on the corners of his mouth at the sight of him. He made himself feel sick, honestly. “Scarf getting itchy?”

“I tried a glamour charm,” he told him, sigh seeping through his words. “It wouldn’t hold up for more than twenty minutes. Honestly, Potter, will you and your Devil’s mouth stick to places where people can’t see?”

Harry snorted. “Gladly.”

Malfoy smirked at that. But there was something off. Something different about the atmosphere he was carrying with him. 

“Do you want a glass of water?” Harry asked, suddenly nervous, slick building up in his palms. 

“Ah, if you wouldn’t mind.” 

Harry nodded quickly, and Malfoy sat himself down on the bed. He was eyeing the commotion of it, Harry was sure, caused not minutes ago by his near-crisis. Summoning two glasses, he then filled them up quickly with familiar charm. Malfoy kept his own in his hands, Harry placed his on his bedside table. 

He could cut this tension with a knife. What was different? Was this — and it hurt to entertain — Was this about to end?

“Are you okay, Malfoy?” he asked. “You know, we don’t have to do anything tonight if you’re not up for it.”

“No, I know,” he replied, but Harry could see his hands shaking. “But, you know, I think you were right. I think it would be better if I — If I  _ did  _ talk about it. I’ve never… Only Pansy and Blaise know, really. And mother and father, but… Well, I’ve not really wholly  _ discussed  _ it with any of them.”

It took Harry a moment. Or two. Too many moments. And then it hit him, and he had to try doubly to ensure that the realisation wasn’t written on his face. He wanted to talk about the scar on the back of his leg. That was what this was about. Harry wanted to smack himself.  _ Stop thinking about sex for ONE MOMENT,  _ he told himself inwardly.  _ Merlin! _

“Only if you’re comfortable. And I am, you know, comfortable, too. I am. I want to help you. You know, if I can.”

Another tug on the corners of Malfoy’s mouth. That counted as a win in Harry’s book.

He said, “Thank you. I want you to tell me, though, if you want to stop.”

“I should be telling you that, not the other way around.”

“I don’t even know why you want to help me in the first place if I’m honest,” he said, and  _ oh,  _ the many things that Harry could have said to that. “But I appreciate it, Potter. Really.”

“Of course,” Harry told him, and took a long sip of water. “I want to help you because you’re my friend, Malfoy. Draco.” 

Malfoy’s —  _ Draco’s —  _ dumbfounded stare at that statement made Harry’s cheeks heat up, and he had to admit that he was glad when he saw the sentiment mirrored in Draco’s own face. He watched as the man across from him lifted his glass to his lips, burying his blush in the chilled bowers of the cup. 

“Okay. Well. I suppose I’ll start,” he said, tapping his fingernails against the glass restlessly. He took a deep breath, flung a locking charm at the door, and began. “I… mentioned Greyback, yes?”

Harry only nodded.

“Well, for a man who loves children so much, he does not treat them well. He was living in the manor with us during the height of it all, when it started. My mother and father caught on eventually and stopped it; said their son wouldn’t be made a fool of in his own house. The Dark Lord wasn’t pleased; he needed the werewolves as his allies.” 

His voice was almost monotone if it weren’t for the slight quiver in his voice as he mentioned his father and Voldemort. He wasn’t looking at Harry, instead staring hard at a chip in the wallpaper. His mouth was downturned. Harry let him continue.

“But it was around the time when I was supposed to be planning out my  _ mission _ ,” he spat. “I cried that it was distracting; that I was barely getting any progress done with him there… Looming.

“The Dark Lord could tell that I was using it as an excuse; legilimency, I imagine. He… That was when I discovered how  _ crucio _ felt. Lovely little spell. He kept Greyback away from me, though, after that. I was able to complete my plans for the Vanishing Cabinet — and it worked.”

“But you couldn’t kill Dumbledore,” Harry interjected. Malfoy’s face turned sour as he turned to look at him.

“I  _ know _ .”

“Don’t sound like that’s a bad thing,” he said, affronted. 

“It’s — No, of course it isn’t, that’s not what I meant. But…  _ He _ was there.  _ He _ saw me fail.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “Oh.”

“The Dark Lord was so — disappointed, he’d said.”

“Draco…”

“Greyback had free roam of the house after telling him the extent of my reluctance. My only hope was that he would stay away from my parents. He always spoke about my mother and father as though they were pieces of meat. The Dark Lord was already angry at my father for letting you get away. My family was prey. I think Greyback knew that at this point, he could have done anything and gotten away with it.”

“And… What did he do?” 

“The cruciatus curse was one of his favourites, but I daresay that he became bored of it after a while. The same reaction every time.” He bowed his head slightly. “That’s when he began to use the imperius curse. He would make me —” He gulped “— He would make me hurt people. Make  _ me _ perform cruciatus. I remember it; every second. He wouldn’t let me forget.” Harry remembered it too. He didn’t say as such. “He told me that he was training me for the next time The Dark Lord gave me a task so that this time I would not disappoint him.” He gave a dry, bitter laugh. “And then you pop up, with a swollen fucking face.”

Harry drew a shaky breath. “You saved me.”

“I paid for it.” He wiped his palms on his thighs, chest beginning to heave. “What you saw on my leg, on New Year’s. It was him.”

“Oh… Can I ask how?” Harry whispered, his thumb tracing soothing circles on Draco’s restless leg. He seemed to have drifted nearer to him, unconsciously leaning closer. 

“It was right after you had escaped,” Draco murmured. “Aunt Bellatrix was furious with me. She dragged me from my mother and told Greyback to punish me, but hide me. The Dark Lord had been called. They were all merciful enough not to mention my mistake to him. I have no doubt that he would have killed me.”

“But Greyback still… hurt you?”

There was a beat of silence. And then, achingly, “Yes.”

If he weren’t already dead, Harry would’ve wanted to kill him right then. 

“I don’t want this to sound like a sob story,” Draco added quietly. 

“It doesn’t,” he told him firmly, “Just because you’re talking about something bad happening to you, doesn’t make that a sob story.”

Harry heard Draco’s intake of breath, saw the way his knuckles whitened against the glass of water. He reached down, took it from his grasp, and placed it alongside his own. 

“It’s hard to talk about,” he whispered, eyes following Harry’s hand. He gripped the sheets tightly in the absence of the water. 

Harry told him gently, “I know.”

“I can hardly remember most of what I did under the curse,” he continued, voice small, head bowed. “I suppose that’s a good thing. But I just — I can’t let any of that happen again. Do you understand? Do you — I can’t let that happen to me again.” His head shook, ever so slightly. “I can’t, Harry. I can’t.”

“I won’t let you,” he said. “I’m going to help you, Draco. I promise.”

“I know you will,” he said, a small, solemn chuckle dipping into his tone, and one of his palms slid forward, up from the bedsheets to Harry’s chest. His hand made its way upwards, slowly feeling each individual rib, then over his pec, coming to rest over his collarbone. His fingers knotted the fabric there, pulling Harry even closer to him. Harry’s glasses slipped ever so slightly down his nose. He didn’t dare lift his hand to push them back up. “What do you think I hired you for?”

“My amazing personality and dashing good looks?” he suggested, eyebrow raised, and a rush of something wonderful ran through him at the sight of yet another smile caused by him. 

“Well,” Draco hummed. “I can’t say that those weren’t contributing factors.” He looked up, then, meeting Harry’s gaze. “Do you really think that telling you all of that will help me with throwing off the curse?”

“I don’t know. I would be lying if I said I did know. But I do think it’ll help, like a weight off of your chest. Regardless, I’m happy that you told me, anyway.”

Draco nodded slowly, and said, tentatively, “That’s what friends do, right?”

Harry didn’t bother to try and hide the stutter of breath he inhaled sharply, his gaze flickering from eye to eye. “Friends, yeah,” he said. “Definitely. Absolutely.” 

He leaned forwards, pressed their lips together softly. The kiss lasted only a moment or so, no more than two or three blinks, and when Harry pulled away, Draco’s eyes were open with reluctance. 

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” he asked him. “I’d like it if you did.”

Draco gulped. “I’m not really in the mood for, well, any of our normal activities.”

He shrugged at him. “Neither am I. I’m happy just being with you.”

Draco didn’t look convinced until a moment or two afterwards, and he seemed to think something over in his head before returning a kiss to Harry’s mouth, no longer than the previous one had been. He bit his own lip once parted, shuffled closer to Harry, and said to him, “You don’t have to be so bloody sentimental.”

“It’s a sentimental moment!” he said in his defence, gently rubbing the other man’s leg. “Plus, I’m just telling the truth.”

Harry watched as Draco processed the words, and in unison they kissed once again. Harry wasn’t even sure who initiated it, but it lasted no longer than the others. It was sweet. Soft. Subtle. 

“Do you want to go for dinner?” he asked, nose against nose. “And, do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow?”

Draco nodded — to both — and kissed him again. 

*

“At least we have an excuse to wear the scarves,” Harry said, laughing at Draco’s proceeding eye roll and pout. The snow fell consistently but softly, and Draco’s colouring made him almost camouflaged. He was draped in one of Harry’s spare Gryffindor scarves, the house-elves (apparently) having taken his own regular throughout the night. Harry didn’t believe it for a moment. But he didn’t mind. Draco looked good in red. 

“We wouldn’t need an excuse if you were more careful.”

“Shut up, you love it.” 

Draco did not respond to that. Instead, he turned to face the other way, pointing into the hazy wind. “Since I was apparently proved wrong about several things that happened in your youth being only rumours, I want to know: is it true that you’ve been inside the Shrieking Shack?”

Harry turned, smiling, and stepped close by his side. “Would you even believe me if I said yes?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“It’s cosy, really,” he joked. 

“What  _ haven’t  _ you done that was said about you?”

“Well, I never shagged Hermione, nor would I ever want to,” he said, a shudder running through his spine. “Rita Skeeter got that disgusting idea everywhere. I couldn’t even hug my best friend without people thinking we were together.”

“Well, I won’t say I’m not pleased to discover that you never got Granger into bed,” Draco replied, helpless laughter throughout. “Merlin, the mere thought of you two is just —”

“Don’t think about it!” he interrupted quickly. “That’s gross! Don’t do that!”

“No, you’ve made me picture it now. Oh, it's worse than picturing her and Weasley.”

“Don’t picture that either!” Harry pleaded. “That’s so sick. Do you think about people doing that often? That’s such an invasion of privacy.”

He scoffed. “It’s not as though I’m actually  _ watching  _ them. Don’t be ridiculous. How is using my imagination an invasion of privacy?”

“It just – is?”

“Okay. Okay. So you’ve never once pictured anybody attractive naked? Merlin, I dread to think of what on Earth you actually think of when touching yourself.”

“Shut up,” he said bashfully, knowing full well that Draco knew that he only thought of him. He’d been thinking of  _ only  _ him whilst doing it since that first time in the shower, and it was certainly not something that he intended on stopping.

“You really…” he said softly, then stopped himself, and then Harry heard him suck in a deep breath before he finished, “You really are astounding, you know. I know you hear it all the time, but… Salazar, Harry, you really are.”

Harry stalled, mulling over how to reply for a moment or two longer than probably necessary. He stepped closer to him, and smiled at the look of shock on Draco’s face when he took his hand in his own. He opened with, “I don’t hear it all the time,” and, before Draco could rebut it, continued with, “But it’s nice to hear it from you.”

He watched with a smile as Draco’s face flushed a bright red, a feat that he suspected was not entirely caused by just the cold. “Harry… I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“After last night.”

Harry nodded. “Yes?”

“Do you... Why did you want me to stay in your room last night?”

He frowned, eyebrows furrowed at that, and felt a sense of confusion run through him. Hadn’t it been obvious? 

“I told you, I was happy to just be with you. And because after telling me all of that, I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Draco examined his face. He could feel the much-wanted interrogation in his stare, and the way in which his hand was squeezed even tighter. 

“Because we’re friends?”

Harry’s eyes flickered down for a moment, gaze resting on their conjoined hands. Friends? Friends did this? Friends felt this insurmountable rush of emotion at the mere prospect of being close with the other, of touching the slightest slip of skin? He’d never do this with Ron in a million years. But, he supposed, he’d never suck Ron’s cock either. 

“Yes, Draco. How many more times do I have to tell you that we’re friends? You have me, and you’re going to have to try a lot bloody harder to get rid of me.”

Draco only stared at him, eyes slightly narrowed, before looking around and trying to hide an obvious smile. “Well, people are going to almost definitely think we’re far beyond friends if they see us holding hands,” he said. 

“Oh, and you have a problem with that, do you? Ouch. I see how it is.” Harry pressed a hand over his chest. “Just killed me again, mate.”

“ _ Again _ , again,” Draco joked. “Salazar, you just can’t stay down, can you? Like an over-enthusiastic dog.” A finger trailed upwards, and he pulled on his scarf, eyebrow high. “Though I suppose we knew that already.”

“Hey, now,” he said, cheeks aching. “You can’t blame me.”

“Can’t I? I must say I’ve never been quite so swayed so taken in the moment that I absolutely  _ must  _ get my mouth on somebody.”

Harry, feeling desperately cocky, scared not of the banter or indeed of anything at all, took one careless look around before leaning in close to him, his breath tickling Draco’s ear. He said, “I think we both know that’s a lie.”

Draco shoved him lightly with his spare hand. “Shut up.”

“No, no, I don’t just mean me! Should’ve seen yourself that one night, in the hallway with Logan.” He felt his mouth suddenly run dry at the memory and had the inexplicable urge to lick his frosted lips.

“Ugh. Shut up. I can’t believe myself sometimes. He really was a piece of work, you know. Can you believe that I did that as an apology?” 

“Bloody good apology.”

“You’re a beast.”

“You love it,” he said, his voice unwillingly wavering. At the subsequent beat of silence, he added, “What were you apologising for?”

He watched as Draco’s mouth opened, closed, and opened before closing once more. His cheeks turned a pretty pink colour, impacted by more than just the snow on his cheeks. He shook his head. “I promise you, you will never let me live it down.”

The corner of his mouth twitched once more. “I think I can remember… He said something… Was it about names?” 

“No. Come on. Come on, Potter.”

“Ah-ah. Harry.”

“Shut the fuck up,  _ Harry. _ ” 

“Oh, ouch, you've really wounded me there. Any chance of an apology?”

The proceeding shove was harder than he’d anticipated, but his look of shock was not alone as their intertwined fingers brought Draco toppling down on top of him, the two of them laying stunned, the snow wetting Harry’s clothes. He remained still for a moment, eyes wide, staring intently on Draco’s equally surprised face, and burst out laughing after no more than ten seconds of silence. Even with his eyes screwed shut behind his glasses, he could still sense the other man’s gaze on him, on his face, on his smile. Each hot puff of laughter that escaped his chest was punctuated by the weight of the other man wobbling over him, rocking with the heaves. When he opened them again, his vision was blurred, snowflakes melting fast on his lenses, and Draco was still holding that same dumbfounded stare. It felt to Harry like he might have grown ten extra heads since the last time he checked. 

“You,” Draco said quickly, eyes still just as wide, lips parted between words, hair falling over his face as he gazed down. “It was you. I — He got me off, and I said your name instead of his.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot to the very tip of his forehead, and he could help it. The giggles escaped him tenfold. To picture that was both simultaneously sexy and hilarious, and  _ ouch,  _ poor Logan. Poor, poor Logan. It wasn’t even worth attempting to hide his glee.

“Holy  _ shit,  _ Draco!” he exclaimed, grin reaching his eyes. 

“It’s not funny! It was mortifying!” he protested. “You still hated me, at that point.”

Harry’s mouth opened, then closed, and his grin shrank. “I didn’t hate you, Draco. After the war, hating anyone seemed pointless.”

Draco shifted uncomfortably. “Well, we weren’t exactly at this point, were we?”

He hummed in consideration, his thumb brushing over the soft skin on the back of Draco’s hand. “I never would have thought we’d ever get to this point. Draco Malfoy on top of me, dying of hypothermia on a small pathway off of Hogsmeade…”

“I’d have called you as thick as two short planks if you’d have predicted this a year ago,” he said in return, and, as though it had suddenly hit him all at once, he scrambled to remove himself from Harry's body. Harry pushed himself into a sitting position once given the chance, giving Draco a once over. He flicked his hand once, twice, and the two of them were showered in a blast of warm air. 

“That would’ve been warranted,” Harry agreed. He didn’t dare remove his gaze from Draco’s face, so close, so flushed. “So, tell me more about accidentally saying my name whilst orgasming?”

He watched Draco’s hands fly to his face and as he shook his head vehemently, however shuffling closer still. “I knew it was a mistake to tell you.”

“No, no. Please. I’m all ears. I’d like to hear all about it.”

“You’re hearing nothing of the sort.”

“Why don’t you tell me over a drink?” Harry proposed, lifting his own hand to gently pull Draco’s away, revealing his face once again. It made Harry nibble at his bottom lip. 

Draco said, with a nervous twinge, “I’m banned from The Three Broomsticks.”

“Well,” Harry said in return, trying not to let any emotion show on his face. “I suppose we always have Madam Puddifoot’s.”

Draco’s face grew a shade of red beyond even the pigment of the borrowed scarf around his neck. Harry had never wished for a camera more than that moment. Never. 

*

“I’m not going completely mad, am I?” Hermione asked him, jaw locked with determination. “How long?”

Harry looked around once, twice, now too familiar with having to be wary of his surroundings. The common room was relatively full, especially for around eleven o’clock, but he supposed it made sense for a Saturday night. Ron was across the room with Neville, the two of them having a heated debate about the importance of Herbology in everyday wizarding life. Draco was sat on the footstool in front of the fireplace, Pansy between his legs on the floor, his fingers plaiting intricate patterns into her long, black hair as she fluttered her long eyelashes at Michael Corner. Draco held a soft smile firmly in his lips as he listened to them ramble on about something or nothing. Every now and then, he’d look up and catch Harry’s eye, then blush a deep pink and make a mistake in his artwork. Now, he did not happen to look up and meet his gaze. This, in all probability, was a very fortunate feat, as he’s sure that all that his expression had been portraying since Hermione started whispering was  _ fear. _

“Hermione,” he said in an equally hushed tone. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

She pursed her lips for a moment before nodding fervently, her hair bouncing along beside her face. “A walk sounds lovely,” she agreed. 

The two of them left the common room side by side, Ron giving her a quick kiss on the cheek as she walked by before returning to the hot debate. Draco’s head shot up and Harry could only give a wavering smile before exiting through the portrait hole after Hermione.

They ended up in a small classroom that Harry had never seen used once in his many years at Hogwarts. Locking and privacy charm at the door, they sat opposite each other on mirrored desks, and Harry ran an uneasy hand through his hair. 

“How long?” she repeated into the dim room, softer and less urgent now. 

“Well,” he said, trying to even remember. Had it really been so long? Surely not. “October, perhaps?”

“What?” she gasped, hands flying to her mouth. “I had no idea! I would have thought purely since New Year’s eve!” 

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t remember anything after midnight, to be honest. Were we obvious?”

“Er, well, I wasn’t exactly the picture of sobriety, was I?” she joked, avoiding eye contact with him, and dropped her hands to rest on her legs again. “I’m quite astounded. Really. You’ve been dating for almost four months!”

“Hey,” Harry said quickly, raising his hands. “We’re not dating, alright? Don’t start saying that, or anything… Definitely not to him. We’re just fooling around a bit.”

“Just fooling around?” Hermione echoed, one eyebrow flying to her hairline. “Harry Potter, are you still a virgin?”

“Yes! Of course, I am! We haven’t done  _ that.  _ And for the record, it’s really weird discussing this with you!”

“No, it isn’t! I’m one of your best friends, Harry. Do you really think that Ron is going to want you to talk to him about Malfoy?”

Harry considered this, then looked down with a soft shrug. “I guess you’re right. But, still…”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s alright. I won’t pressure you. I’m just going to let you know that if you happen to be tired of keeping everything to yourself, I’m here for you to vent to.” She finished with a nod.

Harry lasted all of two seconds, and then he broke. “He’s fucking amazing, Hermione. Don’t. Don’t look at me like that.”

She bit her lip, not attempting to hide her cheeky smile at all. “I don’t know if I have to say this, but I’m going to anyway, and that’ll be the last on it. Malfoy seems like he’s a changed man now, compared to the absolute gargoyle that we’ve known him as. If you trust him, Harry, then I trust him as well. However, if he dares to even  _ think  _ about returning to his old ways, or to hurt a hair on your body, I will not hesitate to hand him right over to McGonagall  _ and  _ the Ministry!” 

Harry smiled at her, nodding as she finished and took a deep breath. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”

She tilted her head, tongue in cheek. “So is he, apparently. A  _ very  _ good one.”

“Well, he’s certainly not one to shy away from showing off…” he told her, his mind providing him with flashbacks of every little thing that Draco did to get Harry panting. “He’s… Experienced.”

“Of course, he was with that Ravenclaw, was he not?”

“It wasn’t romantic, I don’t think.”

Hermione frowned a little, at that. “Has he ever been in a romantic relationship?”

“Er, I don’t think so,” he said awkwardly. “But… I think the war messed him up, a little. Plus, how often do you come across a gay wizard?”

“Let me see. Malfoy, the Ravenclaw, Charlie, Sirius,  _ you _ . It’s not so terribly rare, Harry.”

“He’s been sort of distracted for the past couple of years,” Harry said quickly, ignoring her list and the fact that he knew it was missing people. “And I’m not making excuses for him. If he’s going to ever open himself up to that, then…”

“Is that… Do you want him to open himself up to that?” she asked, and, without even knowing what his face betrayed of his emotions at that, she jumped down off of the desk and wrapped him in a hug, proclaiming, “Oh,  _ Harry.” _

“Well, I — I’m not like, in  _ love  _ with him or anything, ‘Mione... It’s just, with so much talk about relationships lately, I’ve gotten to thinking. About him. And about him and me, together.” He slowly enveloped Hermione in an equally as gentle hug. “I’m not in love with him.”

She squeezed him again.

“I’m not.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious. I’m not.”

“How would you know?” she asked gently. “You look at him in the same way that I look at Ron. I can tell.”

“Hermione.”

“Shh. Look. Look at me. It’s okay to want to be with him, Harry. Why wouldn’t that be okay?”

Harry’s breath shuddered. “I’ve never been the best at relationships. He probably doesn’t want one with me.”

“Have you asked?”

Harry didn’t answer. 

“Well, there you go.” 

He hid his face in her hair. A frightened whirl flipped in his chest, but a hopeful flame was struck against his bones.

*

“Yeah,” Draco breathed, ecstasy in his tone. His fingernails dug into Harry’s wet back, his head dropping back against the wall of the stall. “Salazar, yeah, Harry, right there…” 

Harry hushed him, licking a line up his neck, conscious of the threat of people overhearing despite the constant pounding of the shower on their skin. His efforts to shut him up extended mostly to that, a hush, and kissing the glorious bastard’s mouth until it bruised and the message got through. One of Harry’s hands caressed Draco’s leg slowly, attempting to be gentle but losing his way slightly, succumbing to the deeper desire within himself and pushing the thigh outwards. His other hand, Harry was more concerned with. Far more concerned with. 

His index and middle finger were buried inside Draco, curled and deep, pushing in and out of the opening in bursts monitored by Draco’s level of enthusiasm alone. His steady drip of  _ yes, there, more, Harry’ _ s are all that he had to go on, and the compass he had was directing him to more, more, more. 

“Harry,” Draco whispered desperately, eyes screwed shut and jaw twitching up and down. “Oh, fuck. Oh, yes, yes, there — I’m, I’m going to–”

Harry kissed him again, nodding, licking into his mouth and continuing to fuck him on his fingers, aiming with each pump for the specific spot inside his partner that got him desperately clutching at his back for support, that got his toes curling and his eyes rolling. 

Never once could his fantasies have lived up to this real thing. With the number of times that Harry has jerked off thinking about fingering Draco, he’d not anticipated the extent to which it would have him completely mesmerised. Doing it in the shower for a first time had his ups and downs — one of the main negatives being that Harry was unfortunately without his glasses. But he made sure he could see enough. He could see the beautiful flush on Draco’s ecstasy-ridden face that stretched to the tips of his ears, all the way down his chest, his stomach, to the head of his swollen dick. That, Harry made sure, was in the centre of his focus. It bobbed up and down with the rest of his body, begging for Harry’s fist around it, or his mouth,  _ anything,  _ but he was  _ far  _ too preoccupied with pinning him against the stall and thrusting his fingers inside him so enthusiastically that they both lost their breath. 

It was so fucking hot, and yet, worryingly, simultaneously sweet. It was the first time that the two of them had been fully naked together, and when Draco had first undressed, Harry had silently dropped to his knees to kiss up his leg, and he had wanted to, had begun to trail his lips towards the sensitively discussed scar covering the majority of his thigh. But then Draco had then sunk down with him, and kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him. Harry understood. That could wait.

“You gonna cum?” Harry asked against his lips. “You want to?”

Draco whined his affirmation and lifted his hips, rubbing their cocks together. Harry groaned at the contact, arching forwards himself, apathetic now to the weird cramp that was growing in his wrist. This was far more important; getting Draco to unravel on his fingers and a few brushes alone. He couldn’t think of anything that could possibly be more attractive, and, as he watched Draco gasp, shudder, slam his hand over his mouth to shut himself up, Harry couldn’t help but press his lips to Draco’s collarbone and go to fucking  _ town,  _ because this is his — this is theirs, this time, the present, it’s for the both of them alone. 

He felt a splash or two on his stomach and supported his partner as he went limp in his grasp, still twitching on Harry’s (frankly wonderful) fingers. He was rather impressed with himself for keeping his strength and not breaking his wrist, either. Colour him an expert. His pattern of bruises left across his skin made his dick pique with interest once again, and he spurred into gently setting Draco down to his feet once again. He wobbled only a little bit, one arm still around Harry’s neck, and Harry kept one hand on his waist for extra security. His eyes looked upon him with a gaze so content and seductive that he couldn’t help but immediately hold a hand to his dick. Draco smiled as he watched, pressing lazy kisses along his cheek. 

“Come on, Harry,” he whispered, breath hot against his skin and teeth grazing his stubble. “Finish for me. I want to watch. Your hand looks so wonderful moving like that. I can’t believe these were just inside me.”

Harry blew out a huff of a moan, his eyes squeezing shut as his hand moved as fast as it could around his erection. 

“Hey,” Draco said, using his thumb to push Harry’s chin up. “Look at me. I want you to look at me when you cum, Harry.”

“Merlin, yes,” he replied, forcing his eyes open again, an open-mouthed grin stretched across his face as Draco pressed their foreheads together. “Want to look at you. Always want to look at you.”

“You better,” he said, gazing into Harry’s eyes, his cloudy irises reflecting hot lust and sweetened love. There must’ve been a mistake, Harry thought. Had to have been. He never thinks properly when he’s horny. 

He could feel it, the pressure, the steady present build up ready to come to a release. He’d not even dared to blink for fear of missing out on staring into Draco’s eyes whilst spilling over his hand. “You’re beautiful,” he told him. “Oh, fuck, Draco. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

“You’re ever so complimentary when you’re turned on.”

“I’d tell you all the time if I could,” Harry said, and the gentle expression of admiration in the glint in Draco’s eyes is what pushed him over the edge. Like he couldn’t hide away from something anymore. 

The water washed the remnants of their pleasure away until the only proof of any amorosity was their proximity. They remained standing like that, enraptured in one another physically and mentally, as if a connection had been made and strengthened and strengthened again. 

“I never get bored of looking at you,” Harry told him in a breath. “I never could.”

It might have been the humidity in the room that made him lose his senses. That’s what he’d tell himself. 

“I don’t know if I want it to be like this anymore,” he said, and it must have been a testament to how much Draco now trusted him that he didn’t get the wrong idea, didn’t even flinch. “I don’t care that I said that it was hot. I don’t want it quick, or dirty. Not anymore.”

Draco’s hand slid from his jaw to his cheek. He brushed a strand of curly hair out from Harry’s eyes. “How do you want it?” he asked him. 

“Sweet,” he murmured to him. “Meaningful.”

“I see. And what… do you want it—” He paused, licked his lips, nudged his own nose against Harry’s “— to mean?”

“—  _ Harry!”  _ Ron’s voice erupted throughout the bathroom. There were two bangs on the door. Another. “Harry! Is that you in there?!”

The two of them shared one look of pure panic, and Harry slowly lifted one finger to his lips. 

“Ron? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine — You won’t  _ believe  _ what just happened, though! Your shower can wait! Come on!” He slammed on the door again. “Get your towel on!”

Harry winced. “I’ll meet you there!” he said. “Give me a second!”

“No, mate, you need to come  _ now!  _ You don’t even know where it is! They might have stopped by the time you get there and, well, you know, considering recent things, I doubt you wanna miss this!”

He closed his eyes and hung his head in defeat. He heard a small chuckle from Draco and bit his lip in returning a smile to him, pressed one small, chaste kiss to his lips, and grabbed one of two towels from the rack. “Stay behind the door,” he told him in a hush, wrapping the towel around his waist. He could only hope that Ron wouldn’t look under the gap at the bottom of the stall.

“Right,” Harry said, stepping out from behind the door, keeping it as closed as he could. “What's all this about, then?”

“Well, basically, Dean just — Oh, mate, you forgot your wand in there!” 

Harry froze. His eyes widened. It happened too fast, far too fast, so fast that Harry couldn’t stop him. 

Ron stepped inside the cubicle. 

“Ron, wait —”

“What the  _ FUCK?”  _

Harry wasn’t even sure which one of them it was that screamed. He supposed it could have easily been both of them. Bloody probably. 

“Harry!” Ron whined. “Harry, there’s a — There’s —”

“Fuck,” Harry cursed, placed a quick hand over his friend’s mouth and pushed him inside. “ _ Muffliato.  _ Ron. I can explain.”

“Harry,” Draco panicked, hands covering himself to keep his decency. “For Merlin’s sake, hand me my towel before shoving your friends inside our cubicle!”

“ _ Our cubicle?”  _ Ron blanched. He was going a little green, really. His eyes were wide and he looked as though he was about to gag. “Harry – No — Mate – Say it isn’t so!”

Harry grabbed Draco’s towel and handed it to him, stepping in front of him to spare them both as he took it. “Ron... Listen…”

He slapped his hand to his forehead. “Merlin _.”  _

“And Morgana,” Draco added.

“Yeah, her too.”

“Listen! Right — Draco and I, we are — Well, we —”

“Oh, mate, oh my God...” He pressed his hand to the wall. Harry didn’t have the heart to mention that he should probably avoid that particular area right now. “You’re shagging — You’re shagging Malfoy?”

“How crass!” Draco huffed. “I  _ am  _ right here, you know!”

“Merlin, I know!”

“Ron, calm down, would you?” Harry stressed.

“What do you mean calm down!? I just saw Malfoy’s penis!  _ Malfoy-penis!” _

“Yes, and it’s a normal penis, thank you!” Draco said. 

“Why does this always happen here, Harry? Why? That’s the second time—”

“Maybe it’s a sign that you need to leave me alone when I’m showering?” Harry suggested. “You are creating a habit.”

“Well, who wouldn’t want to create a habit such as that?” Draco commented, and Harry rolled his eyes, sure that he’d said it only to see Ron wretch again. 

“I’m going barmy,” he heard Ron mutter. “I really am.”

Harry sighed, picked up his wand, and threw a small stinging hex at Ron’s leg. It spurred him into a better consciousness, at least. He watched as his friend shook his head, hit it twice.

“At Christmas,” he said quietly. “Was it him, the bloke you were writing to at Christmas?”

Harry bit his lip, nodded. 

“Oh, Merlin, it was never Fleur, was it? You had a wet dream about Malfoy, didn’t you? And I only went and bloody asked about it!” 

Harry felt the blood rise to his cheeks. He didn’t dare turn around to see the look on Malfoy’s face. He could picture it perfectly fine: a look of pure smugness. Head to toe. 

“To be fair, I had to hear about your dream regarding Zacharias Smith.”

“Harry! That was supposed to be private!”

“My, my. A part of me wishes it had stayed private,” Draco hummed. “However, another part of me feels slightly thrilled at the thought.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

“Shut up, yourself, Weasel-bee. You’re the one who walked in on my shower.”

Ron scoffed. “Like there was any showering actually going on.”

“Would you like to know what was actually going on? Would you? Because I’d be more than happy to enlighten you —”

“Guys!” Harry interrupted. “Seriously? Are we going to do this right now? Can it not wait until we’re dressed, at least?” 

Ron grumbled, “He started it.”

He rolled his eyes at the two of them again and performed a quick drying charm over both himself and the man behind him. He summoned their clothes next, happy for the silence as they pulled them on. Once finished, Harry looked back at him once more, and there was still a smirk entangled in Draco’s embarrassment and anger. He heard Ron finally breathe properly once again.

“Well, I reckon it’s all probably blown over now, anyway,” he said begrudgingly. Harry frowned at him.

“What exactly was it?”

“Dean kissed Seamus in front of the whole school, and Seamus accidentally set the table on fire.” He shrugged. “Thought, you know, with you being into blokes and stuff, it might’ve interested you.”

“I’d forgotten about that,” Draco said. “Does this mean you’re now aware of the fact that they utilised your bedroom for about an hour, or so?”

“What?” Ron asked, and he looked like he was going to be sick again. “Oh, bloody hell. This day can’t get any worse, can it?”

“Touch wood,” Harry whispered, and turned to see Draco’s smile. 

*

They were seriously considering a gagging charm on Ron. He, Draco, and Hermione, Harry was sure, could all agree that it would not be such a terrible thing, really. If Ron said the words “bloody hell” one more time, they might have all gone insane. 

“Ronald, darling, I understand how shocking this might be…” Hermione said. “But, really, when you think about it, they were fairly obvious.”

“We weren’t  _ that  _ obvious,” Draco grumbled. 

“You were rather obvious,” she told him. “It really doesn’t change anything though, does it? We’ve been friendly with Draco for a while now, does his and Harry’s relationship really change much?”

Harry bit his lip at the R-word, turned to look at the reaction on Draco’s face only to find it flushed. There was no attempt of correction from either one of them. 

“It’s the principle of it, ‘Mione. He’s still a prick. Harry, how can you go from dating my sister to him? It’s mental!”

“He’s actually less of a prick now, thanks,” Harry said. “I wouldn’t exactly be doing anything with him if he was still a dickhead, would I?”

“Less of a prick.” Draco hummed. “Much appreciated.”

“Well, you still have your moments.”

Harry shot a smile at him that he was glad to see echoed back, and he felt an overwhelming urge to tilt his head up by his chin and press another soft kiss to the curved lips. He’d loved it in those spare few moments before Ron had interrupted, mouths pressed so close and so plush, Draco whispering  _ what is it that you want this to mean?  _

Had that been an invitation? A small hint to the fact that he’d be okay with them going further, calmer, lovelier than they had been? He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to surmise from that question. If Draco was okay with that progression, then maybe —

“—Malfoy’s penis!” 

“Honestly, Ronald, you really do spend an awfully long time thinking about their penises, don’t you? Should I be worried?”

“Wait — No, I, that’s not what I —”

“Then get over yourself! You’ll never have to see Draco’s penis — nor Harry’s — ever again, alright? Now accept the fact that Harry and Draco are more than friends and we can all move on with our lives because quite frankly, I don’t see why this has to be such a great topic of discussion!”

“It’s not that! I just don’t like seeing other men’s dicks!”

“Well, you don’t have to act so traumatised about it, do you? You think that if I walked in and saw Luna topless, I’d have a hissy fit about it?” Her face turned hard. “ _ Don’t _ you think about that.  _ Don’t _ .”

“I’d rather think about  _ you  _ and Luna than  _ my sister _ and Luna!”

“You’ll do well to not think of anyone  _ but  _ me!”

Harry leaned over to Draco. He whispered, “You don’t get this possessive, do you?”

Draco raised an eyebrow, sat up straight. “Says the man who can’t resist marking me up every ten minutes.”

He nodded. “Point taken.”

“Should we…” Draco began, tilting his head towards the exit. 

“Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, er, guys, we’re gonna go. Gonna go and extend our congratulations to Dean and Seamus.”

They didn’t even turn their heads in his direction, and so he and Draco shuffled away awkwardly, closing the door of the abandoned classroom behind them. 

“Draco,” Harry began. “Do you want to try out resisting the curse again?”

“Another session? I don’t see why not.”

“It’ll be the first one since getting everything off your chest,” he said, knowing the comment was needless. They both knew that. But making a point of it, highlighting it, not so as to prove himself right if it worked, but to make Draco feel better about the whole thing, felt right. It felt like it had to be said. 

“Yes,” he said simply. “Well, just so you know, I doubt there’s much else for me to teach you in return. You’ve learnt everything there is to know from sheer practicality. You’re welcome.”

“Not  _ everything.  _ I can think of a few things that we’ve not yet delved into.”

That drew a laugh from him, though a stifled one, and had to stop himself from freezing in place when he heard Draco reply, “Like yourself?”

“Um,” he deadpanned.

“Evidently not so terribly curious about  _ that. _ ”

“I’m curious,” Harry said quickly, quickening his step in order to keep up with the sudden change in Draco’s pace. “I am! Would that — Would you be interested in doing that to me?”

And then he stopped. He didn’t look pissed of, per se, his expression perhaps one of more disbelief than anger. Harry tripped over his feet a little in his haste to stand just as still as him, wondering why the hell the guy couldn’t just make up his mind about whether he’s walking or not?

“Potter,” he began, and  _ uh-oh.  _ That’s when Harry gulped — and took a cautionary step backwards. “When are you going to get it through your thick skull?”

_ Excuse him?  _ “Excuse you?” Get  _ what  _ through his thick skull? That Draco was purely a receiver rather than a giver? Could one be so defensive over such a thing? Well, Harry supposed, if it had to be anyone, it would be Draco Malfoy. 

“When are you going to understand that I would be interested in doing  _ anything  _ with you? Are you so blissfully ignorant that you would ignore the constant hints I’ve been giving you?”

“The constant — What? Hold on, sorry, have I completely missed something here? Where on earth has this all come from?”

Draco placed a hand over his face, took one deep breath, and vehemently shook his head. “What do you want this to mean, Potter?”

“I’m — Sorry?”

Draco turned, grabbed Harry by his shoulders. “You’re out of questions now, Potter. I have nothing left to teach you. It’s my turn.” And he leant forwards, slotting their lips against one another, and pulled away before Harry could even close his eyes. He examined him, the distressed look upon his face echoed in his gaze as he did so. Draco’s right palm slid up to his face, thumb grazing his cheek gently. “What,” he whispered, “do you want this to mean?”

“Oh,” Harry croaked. His gaze strayed from eye to mouth to eye back to mouth again. “Oh, Gods. Everything. I want it to mean everything.”

Draco waited, nodded once, told him, “Good answer,” and crowded him against the wall, his lips upon his yet again. 

Their kiss was sweet but short-lived. A bell chimed and Draco was off of him as quickly as he was upon him, just as students began to flood the corridors. The two of them pressed their gaze upon one another from a safe, conspicuous distance. Not five seconds later, Draco kicked off from his stance and Harry followed him closely behind, wavering through the stream of students trying to push past them. 

Harry followed him and followed him. He almost lost him a few times. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not when he stood out so easily from the rest of the crowds. 

And there they end up: the very classroom where it started. 

Draco pushed himself up onto the table, the very same one he had always pushed himself up onto, and sat with spread legs that looked as though they were just waiting for Harry to step between them. 

“Harry,” he said, voice like velvet. “Cast it.”

Harry took one, two, three steps forwards into the room, and settled himself on the desk opposite. He said, “Kiss me first.”

“I’m not getting up.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Kiss me.” 

“Make me,” he said, and Harry knew he meant it. 

He withdrew his wand from his pocket, twirled it in his fingers, and pointed it at Draco with an outstretched arm. “ _ Imperio.” _

He didn’t wait. He didn’t want to see the way that his eyes glazed over, or the way that his body sunk into autopilot mode. So he closed his eyes, leant back on his hands and he commanded quietly, “Kiss me.”

He heard shuffling, several taps of footsteps approaching, and felt soft palms on both sides of his face before his lips were captured in the most chaste of kisses. Their mouths remained closed whilst pressed against one another, and not a second later, they’re gone. Harry hummed. 

“Again.”

Draco kissed him again. Soft. Sweet.

A part of Harry ached for the boy between his legs. He wasn’t able to do it — again.  _ Again. Still.  _ After Harry had given him so much hope. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said to him. He dropped the curse. 

Draco’s eyes welled up and his bottom lip wobbled and he kissed Harry again anyway, open and deep. Harry reached out for him, fingers fisting in his shirt, pulling him ever closer. Draco’s tongue slid into his mouth before Harry could make his move first, and yet before he could reciprocate, Draco was pulling away.

“Do it again,” he demanded. He kept his hands on either side of Harry’s face still. His eyes were stern. 

“Draco,” Harry said, breathless. 

“Try again.”

Harry bit his lisp, gaze flickering eye to eye, and said, “ _ Imperio.”  _

He closed his eyes once more before he had to see the effects. He heard the soft, content sigh of Draco succumbing to the curse, and then he told him, once again, “Kiss me.”

Draco kissed him like a madman, lurching forwards and devouring his lips, half climbing onto the table to scramble into Harry’s lap. He thread his fingers through Harry’s hair and Harry bit at his bottom lip, caring little to none about the clash of their teeth. Wordlessly, again, he dropped the curse. 

“I’m sorry,” he said once more. 

“Again,” he whispered against Harry’s lips. 

Harry frowned. He didn’t want to keep doing this. He couldn’t — It wasn’t good for him, wasn’t good for either of them. 

“ _ Imperio, _ ” he cast again, eyes still shut tight. His fingers grasped tightly still into the fabric on Draco’s back and he pulled him in, desperate for comfort and to give it back. “Kiss me.”

There was a moment of suspension, in which all Harry could hear and feel was the hot breath of Draco Malfoy against his own wet lips, and for a second or two, Harry held some hope, and his heart swelled to almost double the size. And then it stopped. Because Draco kissed him. 

He kissed him so kindly, so tenderly. It was as if Harry were entering another planet, another universe. Draco moved slowly but assuredly, his fingers around Harry’s neck and his thumbs on his pulse points, surely able to feel just what he was doing to him. This, that. Everything. His nose nudged and smudged the right lense of Harry’s glasses and the only fault that he could find from that would be that he wouldn’t be able to look at him in the very pristine condition that one should impress upon Draco Malfoy. Harry trailed his hand up and down the bumps and curves of Draco’s spine, making the man shiver, making them press closer against one another. There’s a lick of tongue at the dip in Harry’s open lips but that’s it - the rest is just purely lips, and touch. Slow and steady. Lips like cushions and clouds that caressed the other with such care, such raw emotion, and one of Harry’s hands moved to Draco’s face, just so he could feel more of him. Just so he could have the excuse to touch him. 

Harry drew back, thumb swiping over the man’s lips in replacement, feeling both of their breaths mingled upon it. He leaned forward, then, resting his forehead against Draco’s, eyes still settled shut. Regret seared through him. Nothing had changed. Draco still couldn’t do it. 

“I’m sorry,” he told him again, because he  _ was.  _ And then he dropped the curse again. 

He didn’t. 

There was nothing to drop. 

“Sorry for what?” Draco asked, a child’s eager excitement evident in his voice, and Harry opened his eyes to a smile that knocked the wind out of him. 

“Holy  _ shi— _ ” Harry began, an echoed smile of Draco’s now beginning to appear on his own face. He had no time to finish his own proclamation, though, because then Draco was pushing him backwards, burying his hands in Harry’s hair and climbing atop of both him and the table. Harry touched him everywhere that he could reach, grasping blindly and letting a beaming smile disrupt the perfection of the kiss that they’d started once again. “You did it,” he whispered, taking advantage of the moment Draco took to pull away and shuck off his shirt. Harry gazed at him, licking his lips at his partner’s torso and admiring the way that Draco cared so little now about the scars littering his skin, the self-consciousness and secrets eradicated from between them. 

“I did it,” he whispered back, and then, pausing, his eyes grew wide, and he slapped a hand over his quivering mouth. “I did it,” he repeated.

Harry reached upwards, placing his hands on his partner’s arms and stroking them slowly, nodding encouragingly, but not wanting to be patronising. “You did it.”

“Try again,” he asked, and Harry could see the beauty of hope in those grey, grey eyes with the specks of blue excitement that he’d so admired that New Year’s Eve. “I want to be sure.”

Harry understood. He raised his wand and performed the curse once more, and this time he watched—watched as Draco so obviously tried to fight it, face screwed with concentration and will. He watched as he succeeded again. He watched the delight spread over his pretty face as a bead of sweat trickle down the red on his cheek. 

“Draco,” he whispered through a smile. “Draco, you —”

“Please,” he answered, pushed Harry back down against the desk and occupied his lips in a pathway to heaven. Harry’s hands couldn’t move fast enough. They roamed as far as physics allowed them to, pulling Draco down, flushing him against his body as he hovered above him, grabbing him by the ass. His fingers had been inside this just hours ago. His fingers had been making the man on top of him writhe and moan his name, ask for more,  _ beg  _ for more, and Harry wanted to — Harry thought that now, maybe, he might be —

“I can’t thank you enough,” Draco told him in between pulling away from their kiss and plastering his lips straight back down to his jaw. He kissed across it, teeth skimming his skin, one hand reaching down between their bodies and the other keeping his elevated position. He used his fingers to open up Harry’s trousers, an excellent use, really, as far as Harry was concerned. And then he grabbed at his erection, and Harry was sure that there was no better use for Draco’s hands at all. 

“You don’t have to —” He paused, a grunt ripping through his throat and out of his mouth. His head rolled back and his hips bucked upwards at the sensation of Draco’s lips and tongue and teeth travelling down to his throat. Harry’s heart thumped. Draco could rip out his jugular with his teeth and Harry would probably still worship him. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I want to,” he told him, pushing Harry’s shirt up. Harry took it from the bottom, leaning up and pulling it over his head, skewing his glasses. Draco took it from him and threw it in the same general direction that he had done with his own. His mouth was put to work right away. His lips sank from Harry’s throat to his chest, leaving butterfly kisses on his skin before pressing his mouth to Harry’s right nipple, taking it between his teeth and rolling the nub with his tongue. This, coupled with the way that Draco stroked his erection so tantalisingly slowly, made Harry squirm, made his jaw drop with hot breath and release a string of curses that would make even Ron Weasley cross himself to God. 

“Jesus Christ,” Harry muttered, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand, the other grasping onto the back of Draco’s neck as if he’d die if he ever let go. It was like electricity running through every inch of his body, charged by Draco’s lips and a Draco’s palm, both items sent either down from God or up from the Devil, but Harry was sure that this was not,  _ could not,  _ be the work of any mere mortal — feelings like this were not so easy to come by, were they? Feelings like this were fleeting and rare. This did not feel like the regular kind of pleasure. 

Draco released the nipple from his mouth with a wet  _ pop  _ and continued on down Harry’s body, looking up at him through those damned eyelashes of his that Harry wished he could count, wished he could kiss each and every one of them, wished he could blow away from Draco’s fingers every time one fell astray and grant him whatever wish he could possibly ask for. Each time he saw that same look in his eyes, he counted his blessings. He’d seldom be so lucky to catch a sight more beautiful. 

Every kiss that Draco left down his navel sent a jolt of arousal down his spine, his dick hardening impossibly more so under Draco’s grasp. He arched his back each time Draco squeezed him and could feel the smirk of the bastard against his skin, under his lips of sin. 

He finally,  _ finally,  _ reached Harry’s dick, his lips ghosting over the shaft and making Harry wonder how on earth such evil behaviour constituted as a  _ thank you.  _ And then those dastardly lips were around the head of his cock, and Harry’s head whipped back so fast that it smacked into the wooden desk beneath him. He could barely even feel the blunt pain from it, as a tongue flattens out on the underside of his erection and then slips all the way down, and then back up, wetting it and causing Harry’s hand to slide around, grabbing one handful of his platinum hair. The contrast of his fingers against the white of his hair caught in them made him feel slightly dizzy — or was that just the bump on his head? — and the sight of his erection slowly disappearing into Draco’s mouth and down his throat wasn’t helping — but the  _ feeling of it?  _ Harry didn’t think that he’d ever get used to such a divine experience. 

Draco’s tongue worked absolute wonders, keeping busy as his throat swallowed him down, the way that he rolled and flicked it evoking numerous sounds from Harry that he wasn’t even sure he’d ever heard before. There was something about this — There was something in this, with both of them, something that made it so much  _ more _ than ever before — Harry couldn’t think, certainly couldn’t pinpoint it — His mind was working in overdrive to process the clench of his heart and the throb of his dick. Words were popping up behind his eyelids like  _ immense  _ and  _ wondrous  _ and Harry had really ought to invest in a thesaurus, because there really  _ were  _ no words that he knew that truly explained just how otherworldly and different that this felt. 

And it was just a fucking blow job. Jesus. 

Until — 

Oh -  _ Oh.  _ That was new. 

“Oh —!” Harry gasped, back arching off of the desk, hands suddenly reaching down and smacking the table in surprise. 

Draco trailed off of Harry’s erection slowly, eyes on his face, finger in a crevice where Harry hadn’t ever expected anybody else’s fingers to ever go. Draco looked curious as to whether or not Harry would tell him to stop, to get that thing away from there and put it to better use where it  _ would  _ be appreciated. What was it that Harry had proclaimed to himself? That he didn’t like the idea of anything going up  _ his  _ arse, thank you very much? 

“Can I?” Draco asked, holding up the erection to his cheek and applying a little more pressure to the budding of skin between his cheeks to accentuate what he meant. 

Harry almost said no. He almost shuffled away and told the man with a hand around his dick  _ absolutely not.  _ And then his mind flooded with image after image; of Draco pressed up against a wall, moaning for Britain, Harry’s fingers inside him and making his eyes roll back into his head; of Draco telling him in one of their sessions about the pure bliss that one feels, the glistening, dazed look that fell over his face when he recalled the sensation; of Draco on his knees in Harry’s bedroom, reaching behind himself and granting himself bliss whilst Harry fucked his throat; of all of the many moving pictures in the WizardAndWizard magazine of man after man after man  _ enjoying  _ having something put up there; of Draco telling him  _ When are you going to understand that I would be interested in doing anything with you?  _

Harry gulped. 

He nodded. 

“Tell me,” Draco said, his voice a kind purr. He pressed a kiss to Harry’s thigh. “Say it.”

Harry took a deep breath, shifting his lower body, spreading his legs apart. He pushed himself into a sitting stance, leaning on his forearms. His neck curved so that he can get a good view. He didn’t think he could ever tire of looking at Draco. 

“Yes,” Harry said. “You can.” 

And then he twirled his wand in his hand, felt something wash over him like a cool breeze of air, and watched Draco smirk down at his hand before raising a teasing eyebrow up in his direction. 

“Now,” Draco told him, the hand on Harry’s erection beginning to stroke it again. “Harry Potter, I need you to relax.” 

“Relax?” 

“Yes. Relax.” Draco pressed another kiss to his thigh, and then another, and then one more open-mouthed kiss to his sac. Harry released a hot breath, jaw stuttering open, fingers twitching against the wood beneath them. He watched, determined not to blink - to not miss a single second of this - as Draco suckled and licked, one hand sliding up and down with ease along his dick and the other — the other — 

Slick fingers pressed up against Harry yet again, and then firmer - and firmer again — and then one of them slipped right inside. A gasp is ripped from the very depths of Harry’s chest, and his hips snapped back, his body’s intuition telling him  _ no, no, no.  _ His heart thrummed against his chest and he whispered a hum to Merlin, and Draco licked up to the head of his erection again, no doubt to distract him — not that it didn’t work. 

“Are you alright?” Draco asked, his voice a warm breath against his wet, sensitive skin. 

“Yeah,” Harry breathed. “Sorry. Shocked me.”

“Want me to stop?” 

“No,” Harry told him at once, because he didn’t. He was intrigued, truly, and something in the pit of his stomach was stirring even more at the reality of what was occurring. He didn’t want this to stop. 

“No?”

“Don’t stop,” Harry confirmed, and with one last determined look down at the other man, Draco curled his finger upwards. This time, a moan was brought from his throat, and Harry could feel the pleasure thrum all the way from his head to his dick to his toes. Draco took him into his mouth yet again, sucking him up and down as his finger began to pump in, out, in, and out, each time pressing against that something that made Harry feel so fuzzy. 

Draco didn’t take his eyes off of him once, swallowing him as he had done several times before now, his eyes as alluring as they had been the first time. The two of them resisted their urges to look away, gazes locked purely on the face of the other, hearts both hammering beneath their skin. Harry couldn’t hold back his next whimper as Draco sucked him down and began to thrust his finger in, out, in, out again. 

Harry felt the thrumming pressure drum through him as if it were something otherworldly, small flashes of shimmering stars blurring his vision, and therefore blurring the beautiful view he’d had of Draco. He screwed his eyes shut as Draco pushed against that spot once more, the stars there exploding even more so in the vast blackness, and he had to quickly pry them open once again before he began to feel faint. The feeling inside almost derived from the sensation of Draco’s busy mouth -  _ almost  _ being the operative word. Draco’s tongue… Harry was sure he could wax lyrical about that piece of art, never ceasing to impress him, never ceasing to drive him over the edge. 

Draco began to bob his head at such a pace that the stars behind Harry’s vision slowly began to turn into an image with a description better suited to fireworks. Explosions erupted in his mind and he felt his breath draw short, chest heaving, and then his toes were curling and his fingernails were digging painfully into the wood of the desk, and the wet heat of Draco’s mouth was taking him  _ in  _ and  _ in  _ and oh,  _ Gods,  _ his finger was striking the bundle of nerves that Harry still wasn't sure about - but how on  _ earth  _ had he ever been against the idea of doing this, he didn’t have a clue (though it was barely a coherent thought). 

“Draco,” he gasped, hips beginning to twitch upwards all by themselves, stuttering out of his control. “ _ Draco,  _ oh, fuck, I’m gonna –” he paused, and settled his head onto the desk with a thump, his back arching, “I’m gonna cum, I’m…”

Draco said nothing in return but instead began to do everything faster. More intense. His finger moved with sweet experience and his mouth slid on his dick like it was just made for it. Harry thought that at this point, he would worship Draco’s mouth even as it was insulting him — he’d never known anything so fucking  _ brilliant.  _ It built up like an active volcano, expected and hot, and Harry thrust once, twice, thrice down Draco’s throat, throwing a leg over his shoulder, rejoicing in the proceeding feeling of release mixed with the still present pressure on his prostate. 

Harry threw his arms over his face, smudging his glasses to hell, and took several deep breaths with a shaking jaw. He felt Draco slip off of him, and out of him, and then the sensation of another tingle of cleaning charms. Draco pressed several kisses to his thighs, then up to his hip. He sucked a sweet bruise into the skin over Harry’s navel and climbed up onto the table, holding himself up over Harry’s limp body. When Harry didn’t lift his arms off of his face for lack of strength, Draco leant down and pressed their lips together once more. Harry kissed him back at once, licking into Draco’s mouth, tasting himself and not being entirely averse to it because it’s  _ Draco, _ after all.

“Look at me,” Draco hummed, breath hot against his wet lips. “Fuck, look at me.”

Harry managed to force his arms away from his head and tried to look at him. Draco’s gaze flickered from one eye to the other, lips tilting into a small smile, and he pushed Harry’s blurry glasses away from his face. His eyes slowly adjusted, and he licked his lips as he slowly began to admire his face again up close. He echoed his smile.

“Hi,” he said softly, and lifted his head minutely. “Kiss me. Kiss me again.”

It was then that Harry saw the slow and steady beating pumps of Draco’s arm, and Harry peered down, saw through the haze Draco’s pale hand working on his deep pink dick. 

“You have fucking  _ beautiful  _ eyes,” Draco said. He did then kiss him again, all wet lips and teeth, and then tongue, plunging into his mouth and leaving Harry chasing for more, arching up off of the surface of the table. He wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck and slid his palm up his throat to his cheek, thumb smoothing his skin. 

The sizzle of the kiss remained for them both even as Draco had to ease down on his end, desperate for breath as his impending orgasm grew closer and closer. Harry followed him up as Draco tried to pull away for a breather, not wanting to stop the kiss for even a second, lost in the feeling of post-orgasm bliss mixed with the delight of being able to still swap spit with the person he’d most like to in all of the world. 

Harry felt the familiar splash of warm liquid over his torso and hugged Draco close, fingers digging into his back, relishing in the delectable sound of Draco panting his name, panting  _ yes, yes, yes,  _ and the deep moans from the depths of his throat and his chest, both marked in different ways. He all but collapsed on top him, burying his face in Harry’s collarbone, chests heaving against the other, Harry’s fingertips tracing unintelligible patterns over the skin on Draco’s soft back. He could feel the other man’s lips on his own skin, placing small kisses there even now, even in the soft, hazy afterglow. 

Harry’s head turned slightly, and he pressed his mouth to Draco’s hair. They hadn’t cast another cleaning charm, yet. He felt disgusting. He felt wonderful. 

“Thank you,” Draco said again, his voice only halfway muffled. “I’m never going to stop saying thank you.”

Harry chuckled. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

He felt a slight nip at his skin and jumped at the little bite, grinning despite himself. “Shut up,” Draco replied. There was, ironically, no bite in his tone. 

“Okay, okay. But really, Draco. You don’t have to thank me — not at all. If it hadn’t been for this arrangement, then we never would’ve gotten…” He paused, for Draco’s head had risen, and he peered between Harry’s eyes like he was searching for something. “We never would’ve gotten here.”

Draco’s expression dropped, just the slightest bit. Harry hated that. He wondered if he was missing something, something so obvious that Hermione could probably figure out with her eyes closed. 

“Where is here, Harry?” he asked softly. His teeth toyed with his lower lip, his eyebrows tilted ever so slightly downwards. 

Oh. There was a mixture of a lot of things flying through Harry’s head like a flock of worrisome birds rattling his insides. He waved his hand whilst the thought was still fresh in his mind and felt the stickiness between their bodies vanish. Draco shifted uncomfortably and sat up, straddling Harry’s thighs now, and he tucked both of them back into their pants. He left Harry’s trousers undone, and that, mixed with the litter of marks across Draco’s skin and the fact that they’d both still lost their shirts, was the happy reminder of what they’d just finished. He wandlessly  _ accio’d  _ his glasses and fit them back on his face, and, after a short cleaning charm, sucked in a breath as he looked up at him, a sight that he was sure he shouldn’t be lucky enough to witness — not even he had done enough in his life to gain the benefit of seeing Draco Malfoy post-orgasm. But then he looked into his eyes again and felt another jolt of reality come back to him, a thrum of fear and uncertainty spreading from his chest. 

“You want this to mean everything,” Draco continued, and Harry had to notice and admire the fact that he was so blasé about his scars showing in front of him now. They shone against his skin in the pretty February sunlight streaming in from the windows, faded lilac looking bolder than it had before. Harry was tempted to reach out and run a hand down them, to feel the scar tissue as if in an attempt to heal it, these years later, and then he thought better of it. Draco said to him, “That’s not a proper answer, is it? Tell me. What do you want this to mean, Harry?”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He enjoyed the sex. Of course, he enjoyed the sex. But he’d found recently that he’d begun to enjoy  _ more  _ than just the sex with Draco. He thought back to New Years and the dancing and the talking, the thought back to sitting with him in classes and laughing about the way Professor Flourish pronounced the word  _ bloodless.  _ He thought back to the - what would he even call it? Date? - that he’d found himself on with Draco at Hogsmeade not so long ago now, the fleeting moments they’d shared, getting to know each other somehow more than they already did. Actually sitting down in Madam Puddifoot’s and actually having a good time there, something Harry had previously thought impossible. How long had he and Draco known each other this intimately now? How long had the two of them been fooling around with one another since that one day in this very classroom? How often had Harry sat down and thought about just how very lucky he really was to have even a taste of the immaculate Draco Malfoy, who no longer thought himself better than muggle-borns and half-bloods; who had just as many scars left over from the War as Harry and his friends did; who still had that same pale, pointed face as he had done for all of the years that Harry had known him, only now it was allowed to be decorated and blessed with kiss after kiss from Harry’s mouth instead of pelted with insults from the very same.

A nagging thought in the back of his head reminded him of those stupid little moments, though. Draco’s dry laugh and the bitter way that he’d said,  _ Stop being so sentimental. You’re not my boyfriend, Potter _ that had left Harry in a sour mood for the rest of the day. Why had he said that, if not for distaste at the very idea of it?

“Maybe I was anxious to know what you want,” Harry told him, blinking behind the lenses. “Maybe I’m too confused about what you’re feeling to get my own feelings in order.”

Draco’s lips parted ever so slightly and, after a moment or two of wordless staring, he placed his hands over his face and shook his head. He was muttering something unintelligible to himself. Harry didn’t know if his heart had thumped this hard in his chest even when he was seconds away from dying. He cleared his throat and Draco curled his fingers to his palm, revealing his eyes; eyes which held a mixture of concern and mellow sadness and freaking  _ curiosity,  _ of course.

“Potter -” he began, but Harry shook his head, and Draco rolled his eyes, correcting himself. “Harry, I - I know Weasley and Granger make jokes about your oblivious nature, but honestly? Really?”

Harry didn’t trust himself to speak. 

Draco continued, “How many hints must it take for you to realise something so obvious? How is it that everybody else seems to have noticed apart from you?” 

He was beginning to look a little frantic, now. Harry reached for his hand. He took it in his own and Draco let him. 

“Harry, I’m not very good with emotions,” he said, voice thick, and Harry felt like there was another pause, hoping he might say something, maybe make another joke, but Harry didn’t. “And I’m not incredibly forthcoming with them, either. You have to understand that I don’t - express myself too easily.” 

Harry just nodded. 

“The things that I’ve told you,” he whispered. His fingers dropped to the scars on his chest. “The things that I’ve - shown you...” Harry watched his eyes flicker to his leg. “Don’t tell me that you don’t know what I’m feeling about you. Don’t tell me that you don’t know what I want.”

Harry sucked in a breath. He spoke. At last. “Hermione thinks I’m in love with you.”

His eyes followed the bob of Draco’s Adam’s apple and he tried not to squeeze the hand he was holding too hard, afraid and waiting for any kind of reaction that might swing him to the  _ proceed  _ side or the  _ stop, stop, stop!  _ side. 

Draco squeezed his hand back. He seemed to be breathing incredibly heavily. Harry knew the feeling. He knew it tenfold when Draco, at last, came back with an answer for  _ that  _ declaration, and he asked him, “And what do you think?”

Harry closed his eyes for what must’ve been at least ten seconds. Then he opened them once more, and said, “I think she’s the brightest witch of her age for a reason.”

The air hung thick between them, as if it was July instead of early February, and despite their lack of clothing, Harry felt warm all over and his mouth felt dry. The single sentence he’d spoken had sent a jolt of nerves down his spine and now he was breathing even harder, palms sweatier than they had been a moment or two ago, somehow. 

Draco looked as though a whole new perspective on humanity and earth had come to him all at once. His pupils were as wide as Harry thought he’d ever seen them, his knuckles impossibly white in contrast to the rest of his pale skin, and his expression overall held an impression of something more than relief. 

“I’m in… I’m on the very edge of falling in love with you,” Harry clarified, because Draco’s silence was beginning to scare him a little. “I’m sorry if that’s a bit much, a bit sudden, or something. It’s - It’s Hermione’s fault. Well, it’s not really her fault. It’s your fault, really.”

Draco, at last, blinked three times, and said, “It’s my fault that you’re —”

“It’s your - Yeah - It's your fault that I’m pretty much in love with you. If I am. I feel like I am. If I was ever going to guess what it feels like, I’d…” He shrugged. “I’d assume it’s like this.”

He gnawed at his bottom lip as he gauged Draco’s reaction; breathless, flushed pink. He rubbed Draco’s knuckles with his thumb, trying to draw out some kind of reaction again. He wanted him to speak. 

“It’s Valentine’s Day, this weekend,” Draco said simply, though his voice caught a little as he spoke. “Would you like to do something together? Of course, if you don’t, then I understand, and I can probably find something better to do anyway —”

“Draco,” he said quietly, shutting him up, and he pushed himself into a sitting position. Their faces were an inch away from one another now, noses almost touching. “I would very much like to do something with you on Valentine’s Day.”

Draco nodded. “Good,” he said. “Good. Yes. Well. Do you want to walk back to the common room together?” 

Harry agreed, and the two of them spent a considerable amount of time searching for their shirts, before giving up and casting an  _ accio _ for them both. 

They walked back to the eighth year common room side by side, hands occasionally bumping. Harry couldn’t even bring himself to be that bothered about the fact that Draco had never said it back to him. He didn’t mind, because everything else that Draco had said had been true enough for him — he’d seen the way that Draco looked at him, been allowed to see the most private parts of him, from his scars to his genitals to his tears and his stories, and knowing that Draco opened up enough to let Harry do that, witness the deepest and most precious aspects of him… Harry didn’t think that there could be enough words to describe what it would have taken for him to do all of this. To the one man who he’d hated, taunted for years, as well. 

Harry knew the words were there, on the tip of Draco’s tongue. They didn’t have to be spoken.


	6. Saint Valentine Probably Didn't See This Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again, all!!! hope everyone reading is doing okay! thank you so so much for sticking with this story this far!   
> this is the last official chapter! the one after this one will be a brief epilogue! I really hope you guys enjoy and it's satisfactory enough for everyone who has been reading every day. love u guys sm!

Harry surveyed himself in his mirror for what felt like the tenth time in the last ten minutes. He could feel Ron’s eyes on him, could feel the judgement coming from that very same gaze.

“Shut up, Ron,” he muttered, not able to hold back his smile as he listened to his best friend start to laugh. “Shut up, you daft bugger.”

“Look at you, mate!” he yelled, throwing his head back and wheezing. “You’re obsessed!”

“He’s in love,” Seamus defended, though he was laughing now too. “It’s Valentine’s Day, Ron. Give him a break.”

“In  _ love,” _ Ron mumbled, rolling his eyes. 

Harry bit his lip, not correcting anyone. He wasn’t sure if he even needed to. He felt his skin heat at the very words. 

“So, come on, Harry,” Dean pressed, sitting down next to Seamus and running his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. “Tell us who the lucky bugger is, won’t you?” 

“Maybe if today goes well,” Harry told them, because, well,  _ maybe.  _ If Draco said that it was okay, gave him the go-ahead, what would be holding him back?

The thing was, Harry wasn’t even really sure what was planned for the day. He certainly hadn’t made up a plan for the day, and he wasn’t at all sure if Draco had done either. They’d been out to Hogsmeade together before, of course, and they’d been seen there together too — but this was different, wasn’t it? This was Valentine’s day, and every Tom, Dick and bloody  _ Harry _ had dates for today, was spending the day with somebody special. If anybody saw Harry and Draco strolling through Hogsmeade together on a day like this, there would be absolutely no doubt about the nature of their — whatever they are. Not that Harry minded. He really didn’t. It was more about the worry of what  _ Draco  _ would feel if everybody began suddenly spreading whispers and rumours. Harry had had quite enough of rumours during his time at Hogwarts, thank you very much.

He finally fixed his hair to the best of his ability and wondered for a moment if his father endured the same problems, and if his mother found that part of him charming as well - how many Valentine’s Days had they spent together? He wondered if Draco liked his wild hair, too. 

“Do I look alright?” he asked the room.

“Lovely, mate,” Ron sniggered.

“Dashing,” Dean added.

“I’d shag you,” Seamus said with a grin, and promptly kissed Dean at the following risen eyebrow. 

“Right, thanks. You two both have rooms of your own to snog each other, bugger off and do that there.” Harry shot a wink at them both in the mirror. “What’s the time?”

“Er, about half-past nine,” Ron said. “Blimey, I’d better get going! Promised ‘Mione that I’d walk her down to breakfast.”

“Better hurry,” Dean said. “I saw her down in the common room, looking like she was going to explode.”

“What?” Ron asked, and then quickly slapped a hand to his forehead, jumping up. He exclaimed, “Shit! I was supposed to meet her down there at nine!”

He ran out of Harry’s room, their laughter on his heels. 

“We’d better go too,” Seamus announced, jumping to his feet and grabbing hold of Dean’s hand, pulling him up. 

Harry turned, pushing another one of his curls out of his face, admiring and yearning for their outward happiness. “You guys up to anything fun?”

“Definitely something fun,” Seamus told him. 

“Going to do a bit of that snogging you suggested, I reckon.” Dean grinned, letting himself get dragged out of the room. He caught the door frame just before clearing out of view, and told him, “Seriously, Harry, you look fine. Whoever they are, they won’t be disappointed!”

Harry felt the blood rush to his cheeks, and he turned back to the mirror, wondering why he was so bothered today compared to the other days. He pushed his glasses further up his nose. He wondered for a moment whether or not he’d be lathering makeup all over his face at this point, was he a girl.

He wondered whether or not Draco was so worried about his appearance when it came to seeing Harry. Harry didn’t think he had a reason to. He always seemed flawlessly attractive, in a manner that seemed almost effortless. 

Harry heard a bump at the door, and his eyes fluttered sideways in the mirror. Draco was leaning against the frame, legs crossed one over the other, arms folded across his chest. His face was painted with something akin to perhaps, Harry pondered, adoration. There were creases by his eyes from his small smile — small, but genuine.

“I was wondering when on earth they were going to leave,” he said quietly, stepping inside and kicking the door closed behind him. Harry listened to it softly click shut, kept his eye as he proceeded into the room. “I hope they’re worth it,” he said. “Whoever it is that you’re dolling yourself up for.”

Harry snorted. “Dolling myself up?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, standing right behind Harry now. He could feel him, not quite pressed against his back but near to it. “I half expected to see you trying to straighten your hair.”

“Like anything could help this.” Harry turned to face him, the tips of their noses brushing. “Good morning, Draco.”

“Good morning,” he said back, his voice gentle and soft. “Harry.”

Draco reached up, pushed that damned curl out of Harry’s face again. He really did have a wonderful smile, Harry thought to himself. He couldn’t help it. He leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to those sweetly smiling lips. It lasted only a second or two before he pulled back, and he placed his hands on Draco’s hips. Draco peered between his eyes, almost shyly, and he swiped his thumb across Harry’s cheek. 

“Happy Valentine’s day,” Harry whispered.

“Happy Valentine’s day,” Draco whispered back, and leant forwards to kiss him again. He drew back quickly. “Have you brushed your teeth yet?”

“Yes, I’ve brushed my bloody teeth.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Come on. Kiss me again, and we can go down for breakfast.”

“Ugh. Breakfast. I wish we could just have food sent up.”

“Of course you do, you spoilt brat,” he teased, and kissed him again, kissed him deeper, because it’s Valentine’s day and they, somehow, are each other’s Valentine. Harry didn’t even realise that he’d been walking forward until Draco fell backwards onto his bed, and he fell right on top of him.

*

They made it for breakfast. Just barely, and with extremely tight trousers, but still. Harry silently commended himself on their efforts. 

Everybody was already aware that he and Draco were already friends, and so walking down to breakfast together drew no suspicious looks, thankfully. They turned no more heads in the Great Hall than Harry usually turned, normally just first or second years at this point, who hadn’t yet gotten bored of him. He smiled at one small girl with striking black hair, like his, and he watched her face turn a deep red before she snapped it back to her porridge. When he looked back to Draco, he was rolling his eyes at him, but something in his gaze was fond. 

The Great Hall looked a damn sight different than it had done a year ago today. Gone were the Death Eaters crawling the sides of tables, the dark atmosphere and the smoking candles. Today there were pink and white carnations dangling from each candlestick on the walls, cherry blossom petals gently falling from the bright blue ceiling, not a single cloud above their heads. It was probably nothing that the house-elves couldn’t clean up in a fix, but Harry liked to imagine Filch attempting to brush every single one out of the great oak front doors, especially after his and Draco’s recent encounter with him. 

Harry supposed that the amount of decor and celebration for this normally ignored holiday must have been an effort to lift moods, especially from their last year. It reminded Harry strikingly of their second year, where Lockhart had done the very most, even hired dwarves dressed as cupids to deliver singing love notes. 

Harry cringed at the memory. He really hoped  _ that  _ aspect hadn’t returned this year.

He and Draco sat down side by side at the table, next to Hermione and Ron and opposite Padma and Parvati, who were too busy gushing over somebody over at the Ravenclaw table to notice them. Harry turned around to look, but could only see Luna who he recognised facing him, and she smiled as they met eyes, and he only recognised Ginny sat next to her when she kissed her on the cheek. Harry suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to do the same to  _ his  _ Valentine. 

He settled for sliding his hand onto his thigh under the table, high up, not shying away, and definitely not subtle if you were looking for it. Draco jumped at the contact, and then he shuffled a little bit closer to Harry and began to scoop up eggs and sausages to place on their plates. 

“Alright?” Ron asked Harry and Draco, and Harry noticed, with a small smile, that his hand was on Hermione’s thigh as well. 

“Morning,” Harry greeted, directed mostly to Hermione. “He made it down in time, then?”

“Just about,” she teased, kissing him on the cheek and placing a hand over his. “We’re going to head into Hogsmeade. Would you —” She peered over at Padma and Parvati, who weren’t paying them any attention. “Would you two like to meet us, at some point?”

Harry hummed and turned to look at Draco, his thumb sliding comfortingly over his thigh under the table. Draco blinked at them all and shrugged hopelessly. “I didn’t think — I didn’t plan — I wasn’t planning on going to Hogsmeade today,” he said, with a troubled look towards Harry’s face. “But, thank you, Granger. We may be able to meet up if our plans don’t take too long?”

Harry tried not to look too surprised. Draco had something planned, and now Harry felt like he should’ve thought something up, as well. He swallowed thickly, nervous yet excited, and nodded to his friends. 

“We might see you later.” 

Hermione smiled widely and shot them both a wink, and Ron smirked a particularly teasing grin at Harry, his mind no doubt wandering far at the prospect of  _ plans _ . Harry couldn’t say much. His mind wasn’t far behind.

They left, off on their way to Hogsmeade already. Harry’s hand was still on Draco’s thigh, his thumb rubbing small circles into his trousers. 

“Stop it,” Draco hissed. “I already — You aren’t doing anything to help my situation down below, you know?”

Harry bit his lip through a smile. “Good,” he said quietly. “So, what are these plans that you have?”

Colour flooded through Draco’s cheeks. “I may have organised something.”

“Here in the castle?”

“Mm,” he confirmed. “Well, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be seen in Hogsmeade with me today.”

Harry frowned. “Me?” he asked. “I wasn’t sure if  _ you  _ wanted to be seen with  _ me _ today!”

“What?” Draco shifted his body so he was fully facing him. “Harry, please give me a single reason why I wouldn’t want that?”

“Well…” He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “You were so worried after New Years, that we’d done anything to expose ourselves…”

Draco tutted. “My  _ mother  _ was there, Potter, I —”

“Harry.”

“Harry, I would really prefer that she doesn’t see her son climbing you like a tree.”

Harry considered this for a moment. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of that himself. “Oh…” he hummed. “Okay, I suppose. But I still didn’t know why you  _ would  _ want to.”

“Really? Aside from the fact that you obviously - you know - mean quite a bit to me, I suppose, there’s the fact that everybody knows that I’m gay already, so there’s no reason why I would be ashamed. Besides, who could possibly see anything wrong with going on a date with Harry Potter?”

Harry’s head was spinning — he couldn’t think. “Hold on,” he said. “I’m — First off, I’m not ashamed of you, or this. And second -” The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “- I mean quite a bit to you?”

“Oh, shut up. You knew that already. And no, I’m not saying you’re ashamed… I’m just saying…” He sighed. “You have more of a reason to be ashamed than I do.”

“What are you two whispering about?” came the ever irritating drawl of Pansy Parkinson’s voice, and she planted herself down next to Padma, opposite the two of them. As if on cue, Blaise Zabini sat down next to Harry, just where Hermione had just been.

“I think we could guess,” Blaise hummed. 

“Ah.” Pansy’s mouth split like a Cheshire cat. “Of course. Valentine’s Day. How lovely.”

“Good morning, Pansy, Blaise.” Draco leant his chin on his hand. 

“Good morning,” Harry said quietly. His mind was ringing with the last sentence Draco had said to him before their interruption. 

“Are you two heading into Hogsmeade?” Pansy asked. “Madam Puddifoot’s is doing a fifty-percent off discount.” 

“Eugh,” Draco shuddered, neglecting to add the fact that he and Harry  _ had  _ indeed ended up there (only for about half an hour) during their last outing. “You know I despise it there, Pans. Well, anyway, I don’t know what Potter is doing, but I’m staying here.”

Harry bit his lip. “I’m staying here too.”

“You’ve no dates? You two strapping gentlemen? Why, I can hardly believe it. Tell you what, Potter, why don’t I take you out with me?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I could make it worth your while.”

“No,” Draco growled at her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Harry’s gaze snapped over to him. He looked embarrassed at his outburst, but still furious, eyebrows downturned and lips pouting. He held back his smile to the best of his ability, and said, “No, thank you, Pansy.”

“Now, now, Draco,” Blaise intervened. “Temper, temper.”

“Well, I do hope you two have a nice day. Terrible that you’ll be here all by yourselves. Maybe, with some privacy, Potter’s hand will be able to reach further than just your thigh.” Pansy stood up again, her skirt bouncing at her thighs. Harry cringed but didn’t move his hand away from Draco, wondering how he didn’t notice Draco’s leg moving from under the table when he’d turned to face him. 

She and Blaise left the table arm in arm, laughing with one another behind their hands. The Hall was almost completely empty now, only a few pupils left behind as breakfast came to an end. Draco’s cheeks were flaming. 

“Sorry,” Draco said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“So, when I asked about jealousy…” Harry joked, but Draco slapped his hands to his face. 

“Please, don’t. I know it’s bad.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be the only one,” Harry said, trying to make him feel better about it. “I get… Yeah. I get pretty jealous, too.”

The man looked surprised at his revelation but didn’t say any more on the matter. “Would you like to see what I planned for us?” he asked.

“Yeah, come on.” Harry nodded. “I’d like to see this big surprise.”

“Well, it’s not big,” he replied, as they made their way out of the Great Hall side by side, fingers brushing as they walked. “It’s really just moderately  _ okay. _ ”

Harry nudged him gently. “I’m sure it’s great.”

*

It took Harry an embarrassingly long amount of time to actually figure out where they were headed. Considering the number of times that he’d trekked there himself, he thought himself a slight bit ridiculous.

“Oh,” he said, his voice a little raw, as they came to a halt in front of a familiar spread of wall. Draco bit his lip as he peered over at him, then left his side to walk back and forth three times, eyes shut tight. Harry watched the massive door appear before his eyes yet again, mouth parting.

“It’s,” Draco began, and stood himself close to Harry’s side once more. He heard him swallow deeply. “It’s alright in there. I checked the other day. The fire… burnt out.”

Harry turned to look at him. He wished he knew what Draco was thinking. He could guess, and he could guess that it was a similar thought process to his own. He still felt slightly breathless when he remembered the last time that they’d both been in this room. His heart rate increased considerably. 

“You saved my life in this room,” Draco said quietly, filling the empty silence that had spread between them. “And I wanted to thank you, whilst making new memories for us.” He coughed awkwardly. “Don’t worry. No vanishing cabinets, no broomsticks.”

Harry smiled at him, exuding something that he hoped was akin to encouragement, and Draco took a deep breath before stepping forwards and pulling the handle of the door, opening up the place that had frequented Harry’s nightmares before he’d forgotten them in the morning. He was prepared for a skip of his heart, for the stink of smoke and Draco’s screams to come flooding to his ears. None came. 

Draco stepped inside before him, his manner still sheepish, keeping to himself until he’d gauged Harry’s reaction to the prospect of stepping inside here again. Harry took one, two nimble steps, his eyes adjusting to the sight before him.

Gone were piles upon piles of that which had been lost to time, gone were the flames that had lapped at Harry’s feet. Now, all that stood was a quaint little room, almost like a hotel room (though a very expensive one, Harry was sure. He’d never been in one himself (and he definitely didn’t count the rooms in the Leaky Cauldron) but he could practically feel the room exuding the idea of wealth, and he supposed that Draco Malfoy wouldn’t know any different). The room was a gorgeous mix of silver and gold. There was a white table in the middle of the room with a chessboard and a game of Gobstones set up. In the corner, Harry could see a preserved fireplace behind a grate (and, Harry assumed, protective spells, after last time). The bed was what caught Harry’s attention though, and not  _ just  _ for the reason that one would assume of an eighteen-year-old boy. It was beautiful; the sheets were golden silk, the hanging deep silver, reflecting off of the dim lighting of the room in a way that Harry suddenly thought was gorgeous. The pillows mounted at the top of the bed stood large and fluffy against the high headboard, dark wood standing out against the chrome colours surrounding it. Against the pillows was a black box, not too big, and Harry felt his interest piqued at once — all worries and woes had seemed to have slipped his mind completely. 

“This is beautiful,” he told Draco, walking inside and gently closing the door behind him. He took in the wallpaper, white and gold, with little illustrations of birds flying back and forth, chasing each other around. On the wall opposite the bed was a clock, ticking the seconds away, reading 11:11. His eyes flickered back to Draco, and he watched him rub the back of his neck. 

“I was afraid you would think it was too much.”

“Too much? It seems brilliant to me — I - I only got you these.” Harry reached into his pocket, pulled out his card and his presents, and used his wand to turn them back to their original size. He handed them over and felt his cheeks flare with heat as Draco took them with a genuine smile. 

“Only?” Draco chuckled, ripping his card open. “All I did was ask the Room for somewhere for us to go. It’s not like I bought the Room for us.”

“You still thought of it,” Harry pointed out, eyeing the black box upon the bed again. He watched Draco’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his forehead, watched him slap a hand to his mouth to muffle his laughter. 

“Potter…”

“Harry,” Harry corrected, eyebrows furrowing. “What?”

Draco said through his laughter, “I never knew you were such a Celestina Warbeck fan, Harry.”

He grabbed the card out of Draco’s hands and read it with wide eyes. Fucking Ron. He groaned, shaking his head, because the card that he had gotten Draco definitely did  _ not  _ say the lyrics;  _ Like a Dementor’s Kiss, You’re consuming me!  _ in a fancy, swirling pink font. 

“This wasn’t —” Harry began, but dropped his annoyance for an exasperated smile. Draco was still laughing. It was magical. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “I know you like chocolate, anyway, so I hope those are okay.” 

Draco’s smile remained as he walked to the table and dropped the various different chocolate frogs and cauldron cakes onto the surface. “I do,” he said. “Thank you very much, Potter.”

“Harry,” Harry corrected, his eyes focused on the way that Draco was walking back towards him, following the subtle sway of his hips. Draco stopped in front of him, thinking something over, it seemed, and then he hooked his arms over Harry’s shoulders. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Draco said again, and kissed him. 

Realistically, Harry knew that they’d hardly progressed from this morning. They’d gone from making out in Harry’s bedroom to making out in the Room of Requirement, with only one slight detour to the Great Hall, and quite frankly, he thought, he didn’t give much of a fuck. Draco’s tongue was sweeping against his, and he was  _ more than  _ happy to keep it going, and —

Draco stopped. Harry opened his eyes, puzzled, and was met with a smile filled with something Harry couldn’t quite place. 

“Fancy a game of Gobstones?” Draco asked, nodding towards the table.

Harry gulped. He nodded, licking his lips, trying to ignore his penis for the time being. They sat down on either side of the table, Draco picking at the chocolate frogs, offering one to Harry, sharing his own. Harry could feel Draco’s foot press against his, slipping it up his leg, and Harry was strongly reminded of the Christmas Dinner they’d shared not two months back.

*

Draco won the game of Gobstones. Harry wasn’t surprised, and he played it off as if he’d let Draco win, though they both knew better than that. Draco entertained it though, laughing with Harry as he’d taken to doing so recently, and Harry felt a buzz run through his bones, butterflies in his stomach. 

Draco stood up when their game ended, walked around the table. He sat himself in Harry’s lap, not needing to ask permission. Harry’s hands flew to his hips, stroking them with his thumbs, itching to get beyond the clothing they felt. He felt Draco’s fingers run through his hair, shifting his glasses, skewing his vision of the man on top of him. 

Harry asked, softly, “Tell me about Logan.”

Draco didn’t even flinch. He nodded, tilting Harry’s head up, so their noses were touching. “Tell me about the She-Weasel.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. He had supposed the conversation had been coming at some point. They’d never fully discussed either one of their past relationships. Harry didn’t know a thing about Logan; how he’d gotten to know the man in the first place, how they’d both discussed that they shared a mutual attraction. He didn’t know how much Draco knew about Ginny and him, though. It was public knowledge that they’d broken up, but not exactly public knowledge  _ how.  _ He was sure that if it had been, Draco and the rest of the Slytherins would have been the first to get their hands on the information. 

Harry slid his hands down beneath Draco’s thighs and stood himself up, bringing Draco with him. He grinned at the way that the man startled, squeezing his thighs tighter around his waist, the grip of his fingers tightening in his hair. Harry carried him over to the bed and dropped him down on his back, hovering above him with a smile on his face. 

“Jealous?” he asked.

“I could ask you the same question,” Draco replied, tugging on his hair a little too hard. “What do you want to know about Logan?”

Harry shrugged, pressed a small kiss to the side of his neck, and rolled over so that he was lying beside him, leaning on his hand to look at him. “Anything.”

“Anything? Would you like to know his mother’s maiden name, Potter?”

“Harry.”

Draco smiled. “Harry.”

“How did you meet?” 

He watched his face twist in annoyance, though Harry knew, somehow, that it wasn’t directed at him. His white-blond hair was complemented by the golden sheets on which they lay, and it spread out like shock waves beneath his head. He said, “We met in the hospital wing.”

A thousand different responses fluttered through Harry’s mind. He finally decided upon, “Are you okay?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, P— Harry. I’m fine. This must have been four or five months ago. I don’t have a recurring sickness that you’re not aware of.” 

A hand flew out and Harry nudged him lightly in the ribs. “Sorry for being concerned. I won’t bother next time,” he joked, and bit his lip when Draco poked his tongue out at him. “What were you in the hospital wing for, then?”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence wherein Draco was obviously trying to think of the correct way to explain. Or perhaps a nicer way, a way that wouldn’t make Harry act out. In fact, that was probably the most accurate of all possibilities, as the next words that drifted to Harry’s ears were, “Somebody hexed me. Oh, don’t look at me like that, will you? It was hardly the first hex I’d received since coming back for our eighth year. I was just caught off guard, this particular time.”

Harry was sitting up now, his eyes burning right into Draco’s own. “Why?”

“Merlin’s beard, Potter, I—”

“Harry.”

“Fuck, Potter — Harry, fuck! Yes! I know your name! It’s just a habit, alright?” he groaned. “Somebody called me some nasty names before it happened, that’s all.”

“Because you took the Mark?”

A muscle tensed in Draco’s jaw. “Because of my sexual orientation.”

Harry’s fists clenched at once. “Who? Who was it? But — Hold on— Did you say that this happened all the time?”

“Well, it was obviously before I’d even gotten with Logan and the rumours had started, so I suppose it was just speculation instead of actual knowledge… But since the rumours were released, yes, I suppose it did occur quite often. It’s why I became so defensive when you started asking me about it in that corridor… I apologise for my behaviour, by the way.”

Harry shook his head. “No need. As long as I’m forgiven for spying on you that same night.”

This drew out a small laugh from Draco. “I assure you, you were forgiven from the moment I’d gotten into bed afterwards and got myself off whilst thinking of you watching. Anyway, yes, I got hexed, and  _ no,  _ I will not tell you who by, because I know that you’ll just go right on after them, and they’ve sufficiently learnt their lesson already, trust me.”

He said it with such dominion that Harry didn’t dare argue back to him, though he grumbled against it inwardly. The deeper, more primitive part of his brain was still thumping with the sentence prior, however, and he shifted his legs awkwardly whilst trying to ignore the way that his cock throbbed at the mention of Draco masturbating to the fantasy of him. It still didn’t seem all too real, most days. He licked his lips at the image forcing its way into his mind and tried to quickly forget about it.

“Okay, okay. I trust you.”

“Good,” Draco huffed. He continued, “Logan was in the bed next to mine in the hospital wing. He overheard my loud-mouthed friends talking about the nature of my injury and that night approached me. That is how we met.” 

Harry tilted his head. “What happened when he approached you?”

“We didn’t bask in singing songs together.”

He reached out and placed his hand over Draco’s hand, smoothing the skin there with his thumb. “What did you do?”

“We kissed. For the record, he wasn’t a very good kisser,” he noted, squeezing Harry’s hand back. 

“I’m better, eh?”

“Well, I’m better than the both of you,” he teased. He squealed when Harry nudged him in the ribs again, and they sidled closer together, sharing their smiles. “Tell me about Ginevra, will you?”

“About how we broke up?” sighed Harry. At Draco’s nod, and another squeeze on Harry’s hand, he continued, “We’d already broken up once before, when Hermione and Ron and I had to leave at the start of seventh year. I didn’t want Voldemort to use her as a bargaining chip, or know that I cared about her. We never really officially got back together, but I think it was what was expected of us, to settle down, maybe get married, you know? So we did.  _ Unofficially  _ get back together, I mean.”

“You didn’t get married, did you?” Draco asked quickly. 

Laughter bubbled from his lips. “No! We didn’t get married. I’m sure you would’ve heard about it. The press would have a bloody field day. We stayed together until mid-August, around then. It was kind of a mutual decision. We didn’t have much chemistry, and I don’t know if we ever really did. But I still love her, you know? Just not romantically.”

The other man nodded again. He was gazing, examining each and every inch of Harry’s face, as if he were trying to memorise every bump and groove, catch every tilt in his expression. His lips parted and his pink tongue darted out to wet them. He laced his tone with seductive venom, and asked, “Did you ever fuck her?”

Harry cleared his throat. “No,” he admitted. “We did stuff together, sexually, but… No. I never… We never had sex.”

Draco looked like he wanted to say something about this, but he said nothing. He was still studying Harry’s face, not in a way that made Harry feel scrutinised and judged, but admired, like a piece of artwork hung in a museum. Instead, he reached out to cup Harry’s cheek, and Harry pressed a chaste kiss to the ball of his palm.

“What did you mean?” Harry asked. “Earlier? When you said that I have more of a reason to be ashamed than you do?” 

Draco’s expression oddly didn’t change. He blinked rapidly for a moment or so, as if comprehending the sudden change in conversation, but his face remained the same. “I think it’s rather obvious what I meant.”

“Tell me,” he hummed.

“Well, who  _ is  _ more likely to be ashamed, Harry? The person who is seeing the Boy Who Lived, or the person who is seeing past Death Eater?” 

Harry could see what he meant. It would have seemed perfectly clear to any outsider looking in that this would be a relationship that was purely beneficial only one way. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to actually think like that himself. Draco hadn’t once indicated to Harry — or, indeed, to anybody, as far as he was aware — that he was only with him for his fame. In fact, that had always been what Draco had rather belittled him for. He supposed that if Draco had wanted to capitalise on his friendship — friendship? — with Harry, then he would have done so already. Draco wasn’t even stupid enough to try and use any information to sell to somebody like Rita Skeeter — since the War ended, Rita had been rather out of work, and nobody would ever dare read a word said against the Wizarding World’s Golden Boy anymore. Even if Draco had just been using Harry for some sort of protection… Harry didn’t think he’d mind  _ that  _ much. Sure, he’d like to have been told. But Draco using Harry’s presence around him just to ensure his own safety was not at all evil. It was human. 

But Harry didn’t even think Draco was friends with him because of that. Harry had been the one to approach him in the first place. Friendship had been a fortunate accompaniment to their dealings. Friendship, and more.

And Harry? Did Harry even see Draco as a Death Eater anymore? Was he ever a Death Eater, or no more than a pawn in the Death Eaters’ games? The Mark on his arm should at most be tinted silver, not black. It shouldn’t be there at all. 

Harry took gentle hold of Draco’s wrist, moving his hand slowly away from his face. He gazed at Draco as he let him, and then both of their eyes fluttered to follow Harry’s movements. He raised Draco’s hand, trailed his lips slowly down the tendons at the base of his palm, ghosting breath over the blue veins that seem to shine through his pale skin like rain on the outside of a window. He skimmed his mouth over his white skin until he reached the curve of faded black. 

It’s ugly. Grotesque. A symbol of all that hatred that Harry had fought against. 

Harry pressed his lips to the marred skin. 

He listened to Draco’s sharp gasp and he kissed it again. And again, his grip tightening ever so slightly as Draco tried to tear his arm away. 

“Stop it,” Draco whispered to him. Harry lifted his head but didn’t alter his position. There was panic across Draco’s face. “Why?”

Harry hummed, “To show you that I don’t care. I’m not ashamed.”

Draco blinked at him. He said, “You don’t need to…”

“I want to. This doesn’t mean what it used to, Draco. There’s nobody around to support that bastard anymore. Not as long as I have anything to say about it. Not as long as I’m alive.” Harry shifted his position, he knelt up to get a better look at him, gazing upon Draco’s tender face from above. He placed both of his hands upon that face. “So, no. I’m not ashamed of — of this. Or of you. Don’t think that.  _ Please, _ please don’t.” 

A look of shock still shone over the pale, pointed face in front of him, but Harry watched slowly, intently as Draco’s expression shifted into one of settling realisation and understanding. He leaned into Draco’s touch and smiled when Draco nodded and told him, “Okay. I won’t.”

He kissed him once, twice, three times. “I don’t know how much more clear I can make it, Draco,” he said, his speech soft against his lips. “I’ve already told you I’m pretty much in love with you.”

Delicate fingers thread through Harry’s hair and he preened under them, pressing his lips to the side of Draco’s mouth again. Draco spoke as Harry’s lips made contact with him, “I suppose I find it difficult to believe that you really are.” 

“Do you?” Harry asked quietly. “Do you really? Because I’m really —” He kissed him again “— I’m really not  _ versed in the art of subtlety. _ ” 

“Don’t use my own words against me,” Draco groaned, but kissed him back in turn, like he couldn’t resist it. “It’s… Not just that. My… My body is marked not just with this.” His eyes flickered to the Mark on his arm yet again. “I just don’t — I just don’t see why you would —”

“Draco,” he interrupted. “Stop and think about what you’re going to say for a moment. Are you seriously going to say that I, Harry fucking Potter, would think any less of somebody because of their scars?” He chuckled quietly, lifted a hand to brush some of Draco’s hair out from his face. “They make you who you are.”

Draco licked his lips slightly, and now it was his turn to brush Harry’s hair away. He gazed at the lightning scar upon his forehead, eyes full of wonder, as if it was the first time. Then his eyes drifted downward. “Tell me about them. Tell me about all of them again.”

It took Harry a second (which, to be fair to him, was completely not his fault, considering he had a tousled-looking and freshly-kissed Draco Malfoy beneath him), but he understood. Harry reached down and pulled his shirt up and over his head. 

He lifted Draco’s hand with his own and lay his fingers atop of his, and then ran them over the oval scar over his heart. He watched Draco’s gaze follow his hand, flutter down to his chest. Harry said, “I got this scar after a locket that belonged to Voldemort burnt into my skin. It used to be a lot worse. It was flaming scarlet at first. Hermione had to use a severing charm to get it off of me because it was stuck to my chest.” 

“A locket..?” he asked curiously. 

“Yeah. It was owned at first by Salazar Slytherin and passed down through generations. It had… Dark magic in it. Voldemort hid it in a cave, but one of his followers defected and stole it. Regulus Black. Sirius’ brother.”

“Oh!” Draco nodded. “Regulus. I know Regulus. Or, I knew of him. I didn’t actually know he defected…” 

“Not enough people do know that. Sirius didn’t know it.” 

Draco stared wide-eyed from his face to his chest, and back to his face again. “My Great Aunt Walburga would be rolling in her grave, knowing that both of her sons ended up going against pure-blood values.” 

Harry chuckled. “I hope so. I’d offer to go and tell her portrait, but I think we’d go deaf from the shouting.”

“And miss the chance to rub in the fact that another one of her relatives is a queer and sleeping with the defeater of the Dark Lord? Please. This sounds like a wonderful plan.”

His smile stayed on his face as he gazed at Draco, admiring his fighting talk. “Maybe sometime soon. Um, right, hold on,” he said, and held out his arm, pointing to two puncture wounds. “This is where Nagini bit me.” And he didn’t miss the way that Draco flinched when he said the snake’s name, and Harry was forcibly reminded of the way that he’d seen Draco react to it in his visions, curling in on himself, the look on his face. “It should have killed me, I think, but Hermione disapparated with me and lathered Dittany over it. Nagini had some sort of venom that made it impossible to close wounds. That’s what the Healers said when she attacked Mr Weasley, anyway. So… When she bit me, she must’ve not released any venom, or just not enough. But the Dittany didn’t work as it should have, regardless, and that’s why it scarred over.”

Draco’s breath was shallow and uneven. Harry didn’t have to be a genius to conclude what he was thinking. Draco furrowed his brows, and said to him, “Nagini dying was one of the best revelations of my life.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Mine, too.”

“Did you say that this one was from Pettigrew?” Draco asked, his fingers sliding down towards the thin line that had been slit open in the Little Hangleton Graveyard. 

“He needed my blood for Voldemort to rise again, in fourth year,” he explained, and added bitterly, “There was no time for Dittany then.”

“Fucking rat,” his partner spat. “He was always such an insufferable toerag. In the Manor, he was running around for everybody like little more than a House Elf, and yet whenever he got me alone, he tried to act as if he was in some position of power there. It was embarrassing. Really, what power did he have, being indebted to you? You-Know-Who would have him fed to the peacocks if he so felt like it.”

A tickling heat flooded Harry’s face. He wasn’t entirely sure why. “You knew about his life debt to me?”

“Oh, of course,” he said, waving it off. “It was hard not to hear of your  _ wretched nobility. _ ” He ran his thumb over this scar, now, and kissed it as Harry had done to his Mark. “Please continue. I want to know every inch of you.”

Harry held out his arm, directing it further into the light. “This is where the Basilisk fang got me as I stabbed it. Dumbledore’s phoenix saved my life. If it hadn’t been for Fawkes’ healing properties, I would’ve died at the age of twelve. Or, probably. Technically, I should have.” He ran his own fingers over his scar, now. “It was so painful. The venom is meant to kill you in little over a minute.” 

“Potter,” Draco whispered. “Just because you own the title  _ The Boy Who Lived,  _ doesn’t mean that you have to put it to the test all the time.”

“I know, I know. Seems like deadly situations just followed me around, though, huh? And I managed to live. Weirdly.” 

“Every time.”

“Every time.” He shrugged. He didn’t add the  _ sort of  _ that was on the tip of his tongue. “Um, here, this is the…” He held out his hand, and Draco ran his fingers over the pale handwriting there. “She made me write lines in detention. She made me use ‘her own special quill,’ which, you know, I thought was weird. Then I started actually writing and saw it was using my own blood for it, and this was being carved into my hand.”

“And,” Draco said quietly, his eyes soft, soft as his nimble fingers on Harry’s skin. “It’s in reference to…?”

He looked like he already knew. Harry turned his hand around and laced his fingers with his. He replied, “Yeah. Voldemort returning.” 

The hand around his tightened considerably at the mention of the name. Harry sometimes couldn’t stand that people didn’t say his name, still. But with Draco, he supposed he could understand. Could excuse it. Light from dozens of candles flickered over his face. 

Harry reached down, pulled his trouser leg up, the same way he did on New Year’s eve. “There’s not much to say about this one. In the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament, they had an Acromantula in the maze. He caught me here _.”  _ He thought not of the proceeding conversation he’d had with Cedric, nor of the proceeding anything because it hurt too much still to think back to the end of fourth year.

When Harry looked back to him, he was gazing at Harry’s leg with an open mouth and narrow eyes. “I hated you so much for being Hogwarts Champion, you know?” 

“Really? Slipped my notice.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten those bloody badges.”

“Yes, well,” he said, colour flooding his pale cheeks. “In hindsight, you really don’t smell half as bad as I used to claim you did.” 

“Why, thank you very much, Draco. You’re too kind.” He squeezed his hand, now, and they shared a split smirk, and then Harry lifted both of his trouser legs above his knees. “Then, yeah, I just have random ones. They have to be from falling over, either from when I was a kid or when we were on the run.” 

“The random ones…” Draco began, and then seemed to rethink it, before shutting his eyes and spitting it out. “They’re a bit sexy.”

That had not been what Harry had been expecting. “Sexy,” he replied. 

“I don’t know!” he exclaimed, and Harry didn’t know whether he’d ever seen anyone flush this red. “They’re — They make you look… Rugged.” 

“Oh, yeah, that’s me.” Harry laughed, dropping one of his trouser legs and holding up his arm to flex his bicep. “Harry Potter: The Rugged and Burly Boy Who Lived.” 

“Shut up, Potter — No, don’t —” He held up a finger to Harry’s lips. “ _ Harry. _ Shut up, Harry. Just… They all tell a story, don’t they? The scars?” He trailed a hand to Harry’s abdomen, to the scar just beside his bellybutton. “Even if I don’t know what tattoness is…”

“Tetanus?”

“Yes, that. Well… They show how brave you are, don’t they?” 

A beat of silence hung between the two of them. Harry’s gaze flickered between Draco’s eyes, before he dropped it, shrugged, shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t really consider myself… brave.”

“Harry,” Draco told him, “You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known.” 

Harry’s head snapped up and he stared at him, and he stared at each groove in his expression, his gentle eyes and his parted lips. He wasn’t entirely sure what his own expression was portraying, but his heart was thumping in his chest so hard that he was sure it must have been visible through his skin. 

When Harry didn’t reply, couldn’t think of a reply, Draco rose to his knees. His hands drifted to his trousers and he unzipped them, hands shaking as they moved, making the small task of finding the zip to hold a long one. Harry just watched him. He watched as the black trousers slipped down, revealing milky thighs and dark green underwear. He continued to push them down until every inch of his legs were on display, pale hair glinting in the candlelight. He kicked his trousers into a pile on the floor. His eyes remained on Harry’s face. 

Then he rolled over, onto his front. Harry’s eyes shot to the sickly lilac scar on the back of his thigh, almost on impulse, and then he met Draco’s gaze again, guilt threading through his veins. 

“I got this scar,” he began, and his voice sounded so small. Harry wanted to press a soft hand to his lips to stop his pain. He let him speak — “When Greyback, on orders from my Aunt to punish me, exhausted the cruciatus curse. He must have thought me too damaged to attempt to run. But I was — I was so  _ tired,  _ Harry. I was tired of Greyback acting like he owned  _ my  _ house, and I was tired of that fucking war. My entire family was tired of it. 

“Then you — You showed up, and you actually got away, and it gave me some hope that, well, maybe there actually  _ was  _ a possibility that you could win the damn thing. It was… A combination of hope, and fear. That’s why I tried to run.” He took a deep, slow breath. “It was around the full moon. I’d been keeping a record of when they were, because of him, and the others. But it must have been just days away. I know that werewolves can’t transform on demand, I  _ know  _ that, but… I felt like I was going to die if he  _ crucio’d  _ me anymore — and then he said — He said that it was okay, because his favourite,  _ imperio _ , was coming next, but it was just him and me there, and I didn’t know what he was going to do this time. He couldn’t make me torture anybody because there wasn’t anybody else. And — And I don’t know what he actually would have ended up doing, but my mind was just supplying me with the idea that he was going to  _ turn _ me. And I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let myself become… One of them.” 

Harry watched him shiver, and he thought painfully about Remus, and in normal circumstances would have said something to defend them. He didn’t say anything now. Draco continued, “I didn’t have a wand. You had my wand. I had  _ nothing,  _ and so when he said that he was going to use  _ imperio  _ on me then, I just knew that there would be no defending myself, and he might have made me complacent enough for a bite, or whatever, I don’t know. I don’t even know what he usually did, other than torture, I don’t even  _ remember  _ being under it half of the time. 

“And so I tried to run. I say  _ tried _ because I couldn’t even get my legs to work. I was — I don’t know — Crawling across the floor. Pathetic. And he stood over me, and he started just throwing random spells. I think he was just glad to finally get free reign with me. Over-excited. He cut my robes into tatters, pretending he was aiming for my throat and missing. He was taunting me about it. Then he moved, or I moved, I don’t know, and he used the  _ severing  _ charm on my thigh, my skin, by accident. No. I don’t know if it was an accident. But it hurt so much, and he seemed shocked, and then his face sort of turned, and he was smiling with all his fucking teeth and I just blacked out.” 

Draco was shaking slightly. Harry’s fists were twisting the sheets. His gaze focused narrowly on the long scar and he tasted blood. He wanted to bring Greyback back to life and then rip him to shreds to kill him again. 

“That is how I got my scar, Harry. You already know about my other one.” He let Harry stare for another moment or two. After he was either tired, or fed up, or just felt like he was done being gawked at, he rolled himself over, settling himself on his bum again. His eyes remained secure on Harry’s, bold and defensive, and yet leaks and cracks of vulnerability shone through. 

Not that that was a bad thing, Harry thought, not at all. He liked it. It showed him — bright and beautiful — showed the very core of  _ him.  _ Draco Malfoy. Harry sometimes still felt like he had to shake his head to clear it and remember that this wasn’t all an elaborate dream. It never seemed real. He felt as though he could be a month, ten months, ten years down the line and he still wouldn’t believe that this entire relationship the two of them experienced together was ever real. But maybe that was alright. He could see himself in a month, ten months, ten years, when at sixty, seventy, eighty, pinching himself every day just to make sure that it was real. Just as long as it kept continuing, and never, never stopped. 

There were no words with which to respond to the news Draco told him. His blood was boiling and his head was spinning with the urge to let off some steam, to make someone,  _ anyone _ pay for what had happened to the boy in front of him. But Fenrir was dead. Bellatrix was dead. Voldemort was dead. The next closest responsible was Lucius, who was in Azkaban, or Narcissa, who Harry knew would sooner kill herself than have Draco in harm’s way.

So he didn’t say anything. There’d been little said in Harry’s life about his capability to comfort people, and that was for good reason. He’d always given Hermione a hug when the situation called for it, but he and Ron had never really discussed anything like that - anything properly serious - not long enough for him to have to succumb to rubbing circles in his back and wiping tears out of his eyes, telling him how everything is going to get better soon. The closest he’d gotten to having to do that was when Fred had died, and Harry and Hermione had sat with Ron for hours, talking about anything and everything but, and when Ron had started crying he’d said, “Alright, mate, it’s alright,” and allowed him to weep into his shoulder until Hermione took over. 

But Draco wasn’t crying. His eyes were slightly glossier than usual, (and Harry would be able to tell, with the amount of time that he’d spent staring at them) but he wasn’t crying. So Harry couldn't comfort him. And, to be quite frank, he wasn’t sure whether or not Draco would appreciate that — not right now, when his eyes were so hard-set and his jaw was locked, almost daring Harry to say something with pity laced in his tone. He couldn’t do that to him. 

So he did the next best thing.

He kissed him. 

It had never let him down before.

Kissing Draco had become something of a sure thing for Harry. The act of placing both hands on his cheeks, fingers sinking into his hair, over and surrounding his ears, as was replicated now, with the light of the candles blessing the sight of skin on skin, and the scent of apples drifting up into his nose, like sitting in an orchard in the countryside, was one that Harry could never tire of even if he did it a hundred million times over for years upon years, or for the rest of eternity. The little turn of a glint in Draco’s eyes as he realised what was going to come to him in the proceeding seconds was worth gold and then some, like that of a shimmer of moonlight in a rock pool on the beach, or of a seeker who’d just spotted the snitch across the field. 

Harry supposed that they were both the snitch at this moment, chasing each other, as they both lurched forwards into each other’s lips so fast that he was sure that they were most likely going to end up with bruised mouths (not that he at all minded). Harry saw his own hands mirrored in Draco’s as he felt long fingers scratch against his scalp, taking hold tightly of his curls and holding him close like he was anxious that Harry might have been scared away by his trauma or something else completely ridiculous that Harry would never even dare imagine doing. Draco’s hair, meanwhile, felt like soft silk falling through his fingers, cold and devoid of any product, and Harry felt like he was going to die if he ever thought about letting go. 

He didn’t let go. He held his head firmly against his own so that neither men had room for breath, and neither of them seemed to even care. Their teeth knocked and clanked against one another but their tongues slipped into place with pleasing ease that sent shockwaves through their entire bodies. 

Draco was soon pressing even closer, his thin shirt against Harry’s bare chest. He spread his nude legs, the green fabric stretching out lewdly over his crotch, and clambered into Harry’s lap, thighs over clothed thighs — and Harry had a very sudden desire to take his trousers off as soon as possible, because the confines were beginning to become extremely unbearable. There were echoes of lips smacking and rustles of clothing, of rushed breathing and muffled whimpers, and then one of Draco’s hands left Harry’s head to caress his neck, and drag attractive lines with his fingernails down over his pulse, to his collarbone and then to his nipple. His fingers paused to toy with it for a second, only a second, before they spread out and his palm flattened against his chest, then slid down towards his navel. 

The sound that Harry released could be described as nothing short of a growl; animalistic and desperate, Harry arched his hips into the man above him as his fingertips slipped beneath the waistband of both his trousers and his underwear and reached the coarse hair that sat waiting. Draco’s gasp at the contact had him pulling away, out of the kiss for just a second, hot breath filling the moist air between them, and their eye contact was bursting with electricity, and his gaze told Harry,  _ again.  _ Harry bucked his hips up once again like he couldn’t help it. The pressure against his erection made him hiss, and Draco was looking at him like a starving man. 

Harry could wax lyrical about Draco’s goddamn eyes, he thought somewhere in the back of his mind. Coherent sentences were not exactly coming to place in his head at the moment, but he got the gist of what his mind was trying to tell him, as he stared into those grey pools and all that he heard banging around was  _ yes, yes, yes.  _ And then there was another glint in them, like fire this time, as he shoved Harry back onto the bed, his head landing just beside that black box. He knelt above Harry and Harry, whilst never being a particularly religious man, thanked whatever Gods may be around for the creation of the marble statue that was Draco Malfoy’s pristine body. He wondered briefly if Draco sometimes got the same kind of thoughts when he looked at Harry. He might have asked him, if he didn’t get his answer immediately from the way that Draco was looking at him. His eyes always went wide in moments like this, as if he couldn’t believe that he was actually in bed with Harry Potter, and there was such an avid softness in his gaze that travelled all over Harry that meant that Harry would never need to be told that Draco loved him, too. He already knew. Maybe he’d known this entire time. 

Draco bent down, hovering above Harry on his hands and knees, his palms spread either side of Harry’s head. Their crotches were level with one another, and if either of them looked down then they would have been able to see the inch or less between them, Harry’s erection tenting upwards and Draco’s steering down to meet it. They’d also be able to see the speedy rise and fall of their chests, the thumping of their hearts beneath their skin. Harry’s eyes were focused purely on Draco’s eyes, though — and then his lips — and then his eyes — and then his lips again. 

“Don’t call me brave,” Harry whispered, gaze darting between his eyes. “ _ Me,  _ brave? After what you — After you —” 

“Shut up,” Draco murmured, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his lips again, licking into his mouth, and who was Harry to refuse, really? He moaned contentedly and stroked the skin over his neck to show his enthusiasm. But he pulled away too quickly, and before Harry could complain, he told him, “You’re meant to be a fucking Gryffindor.”

“True, that,” Harry replied, and he would have accompanied his words with a shrug if he weren’t too busy yanking Draco down for another kiss and running a hand all the way down his back until he held a handful of his arse, squeezing it just to elicit new whimpers every minute or so. 

Draco soon followed suit. Holding himself up with only one of his hands now (and Harry really had to admire, for a moment, the way that the lines on Draco’s bicep stood out, bold and beautiful), he reached down and began to palm Harry through his trousers. He hissed into Draco’s mouth the moment that the zip pressed into his dick, but Draco only smirked and pressed harder. 

“You might want to get these off,” he told him, a devilish whisper in his ear. The proceeding lick over the shell felt like something to ensure that he wouldn’t refuse. And he didn’t. He regretted taking his hand off of Draco’s arse to unzip and shove down his trousers until the relief came flooding through his body like a crashing wave on the shore. 

His dick jumped immediately at the freedom it acquired. He groaned again as Draco’s fingers wrapped around the tenting in his underwear, kicking his trousers off of the bed and settling his head back against the pillow beneath him. He felt like it was a dream. He actually pinched himself when Draco wasn’t looking, too busy bending down to suck open-mouthed kisses first on Harry’s jawline, and then the dip in between his jaw and his neck, slowly descending to his pulse point, and then the dip between his throat and his collarbone. 

“I’m meant to be the one marking you up,” he joked, and lifted one hand to Draco’s neck, sliding his thumb over his Adam’s apple with admiration. 

“Nonsense,” Draco said, though he sounded now more breathless than he had done before. “We are each other’s to do so.”

Harry’s eyebrow quirked upwards immediately, and the smirk that accompanied was only due to the flushing pink hue that had overcome Draco’s face. “We are, are we?” he teased. “We’re each other’s?”

“Yes,” Draco said, and he almost looked like a plum, especially next to the whiteness of the shirt that he was still wearing — why on Earth was he still wearing that? “I would like to be yours,” he told Harry, his voice clear as ever, but still breathless. “And I would like you to be mine.” 

Harry had never in his life heard of such an amazing offer. He raised a hand, undid one of the buttons on Draco’s shirt and slid his hand beneath. He let his fingers run over the soft flesh for a moment before proceeding down to the next button. Like the previous, he promptly undid it, eye contact catching and remaining as he did so, and he could see behind Draco’s eyes the pool of anxiety, the ocean of intimacy and attachment. He said to him, “Make yourself mine,” with the softest of voices, and then, “And I’ll make myself yours.” 

Draco’s eyes studied him for a moment as if he were a piece of art or poetry that had ten thousand different meanings than what is apparent on the surface. But Harry had no alternative meaning behind his words. He meant what he said fully, completely. They would become each other’s. As simple or as intricate as that would be. 

Draco nodded slowly, eyes not leaving Harry’s for a moment, not even when he began to unbutton each and every one of the buttons on his shirt. It came apart slowly, flashes of the  _ sectumsempra _ scar exposed as the sides fell apart like shades around a window exposing sunlight. Harry was almost accustomed to seeing the scar now, his dastardly handiwork, but it was still difficult to deal with the ball of fiery guilt that always began to burn in his chest. And then he felt guilty for that, too. Who was he to feel affected by the thing, when Draco had to live with it on his body permanently?

“It doesn’t hurt, does it?” Harry asked quietly, tracing his fingers over the scar as he’d done numerous times, now. 

“Hurt?” Draco repeated, as he shrugged the shirt off of his shoulders and threw it somewhere unimportant. “Does my scar hurt?”

“Pansy said — Pansy said that you still felt it,” he told him, avoiding eye contact. “That it still hurt you. That it made you cry.”

“Made me cry,” he said blankly, and he tilted Harry’s chin up to look at him. “Harry, I don’t claim to be entirely heartless, but I don’t believe I’ve cried in front of Pansy for a long while. My scar… It doesn’t hurt, so much as twinge, occasionally. It’s nothing like your scar. I don’t know what kind of codswallop my friend has been feeding you, but…”

Harry gaped at him for a moment. “I hate her,” he said. “That girl’s had me anxious for almost two months!”

“As is the nature of a concerned Slytherin friend, I’m afraid. You can rest assured that you’ve had - you’ve had no long-lasting physical effects on me. Other than the actual appearance of it, I suppose.” 

Draco slid his hands to nestle in Harry’s hair and pulled him up to kiss him again, all lips and teeth before he yanked himself away from Harry far too soon. Harry leaned in once again, but when Draco smirked and pressed his lips to Harry’s jaw again, he released a whine and voiced his thoughts. 

“What — Mm, fuck, what kind of emotional effects have I had on you?” he asked. Lifting himself up onto his knees, their chests only an inch away from each other, he slid his hands down to Draco’s arse, tilting his head back further as Draco’s teeth scraped his pulse point. 

“Shut up,” Draco hummed, slipping his hand beneath Harry’s underwear and grasping him firmly around his dick. “You know what kind of emotions you evoke from me.” 

Harry dipped down to nibble on his ear, and then whispered in it, “I want you to tell me.” And, bucking up into Draco’s hand, he asked him, “I’ll tell you what you make me feel, if you want.”

With a squeeze, and then a teasing twist of his hand over his erection, Draco responded, “Yeah — Tell me, Harry. Please.”

Harry didn’t even think about what he was doing before he scooped Draco up by his thighs and slammed him down onto the bed, his head nestling into the soft pillows beside the little black box. He dived down and immediately began to mark up his neck, sucking small blotches here and there, wherever he and his lips could reach. He nibbled at his throat too, and revelled each time in the proceeding whimpers that tumbled out of Draco’s mouth like a prayer. He ground down and immediately decided that underwear was completely and disgustingly pointless. 

“You make me feel like pants should never have been invented,” Harry started and swallowed Draco’s soft laugh in his lips again. He pulled off Draco’s first before tending to his own. Bunching them together, he chucked them somewhere across the room and ran his hands over the now endless skin, fingernails scratching over his pointy hip bones.

When Harry dipped his own hips down again, he had to spare a moment for a gasp — it had not been long and yet it seemed like an eternity since the two of them had pressed together like this, like magnets finally finding their polar opposite, clung together like nothing else in the world existed. The brush of their erections sent electric humming through Harry’s body. He lifted his hand, as determined as he’d ever been, and wrapped his fingers around them both, pressing their shafts alongside each other in a way that had Draco arching his back off of the bed. 

“Oh,  _ yes,  _ Potter — Harry —” he babbled, thrusting his hips upwards and sliding himself against Harry. “Come on. You can do better than this.”

Harry held back a laugh. He was warming up. He lowered his voice to a purr, and told him, “You make me feel more inclined to tease you when you ask me like that.” 

“Mm, want me to beg?” 

“I’m sure we’ll get there.”

He lowered his head and licked into his mouth once more, tasting the sweetness of the chocolate that Harry had bought for him, wanting to forever live in the moments where his tongue slid over the other man’s with ease. A shared shudder ran between them as Draco reached his hand downwards and settled it beside Harry’s, stroking them both as they moaned against each other’s lips. 

“Fuck,” Harry spluttered. “You make me — You make me feel like kissing you forever.”

“Something I would not object to,” said Draco, and captured his lips once again. His fingertips danced over their dicks, moving with an elegance that Harry had foregone. The pad of his thumb pressed firmly over the slit on his cock, something he’d always liked, always done to himself, and he shuddered under the thought of how well he and Draco’s bodies stayed in tune with one another. 

He detached their lips only after another minute, or five, and slowly inched downwards. He skimmed over Draco’s throat again with his lips and his teeth and his tongue, sucking whenever he felt like it, just because he could. When he reached his collarbone he nipped there, too, before dipping finally to his chest and taking, with excitement, his nipple into his mouth. He toyed with it between his teeth gently before rolling the bud with his tongue, settling for soft suction when he felt Draco’s grip over his erection tighten, and heard throaty moans spill from his pink, swollen lips like this was his most favourite thing in the world. 

Harry would have been perfectly content to simply continue frotting against the other man until climax. It’s something that they’ve done numerous times, now, and who could honestly fault anything to do with Draco Malfoy’s dick rubbing against their own? 

But it seemed as if Draco had other ideas. His hand retracted and in doing so, he pulled Harry’s away as well. His spare hand ran through Harry’s curls, pulling him up and away from his chest, eyeing for a second his bitten and rosy nipple compared to his other, untouched and pale pink. 

He told him, “I want your fingers inside me.” 

And Harry was nothing but a man. A weak, weak man. 

“Oh, Gods,” he said, nodding immediately, enthusiasm weeping through his very pores. “Yes, yeah, of course. Say it again. Say that to me again.” 

Draco cupped his face, his lips ajar, hot breath spilling against Harry’s face. “Please, Harry. I want them in me, want you to finger me.” 

“Fucking  _ hell, _ ” Harry breathed, though the low rumble that escaped him made it sound like something more of a growl, primitive and deep. He gave their dicks another jerk, flicking his wrist, before pulling back several steps to admire the art in front of him. “Gods, Draco. You’re perfect.” 

“So sentimental,” he responded, letting his legs drop open. 

Harry’s mouth felt as though a dam had broken. He swallowed down most of the saliva that had flooded in as he stared at Draco; at Draco’s dick, hard and pressed flat against his stomach, against the dusting of white-blond hair that Harry liked to press his face into; at his face, expectant and waiting with his lip caught between his teeth, a strange mixture of nervous mixed with daring deep in his eyes; at the shadowed dip in between his cheeks, waiting for him - having been delved into before but still looking impossibly tight, as if nothing should ever be able to fit inside him. He remembered immediately the sensation of the grip around his fingers the last time they’d been inside him and semi-consciously pictured the same effect on his cock, sucking him in. 

He placed a hand on Draco’s arse, squeezing slightly before placing his thumb at the edge of the crevice and pulling it aside, desperate to get another look. Even now, after months of fooling around with each other, Harry could barely believe his luck. 

“If you’re done ogling me,” Draco said, though there was a teasing glint in his eye and a smirk plastered on his lips that accompanied his dusty pink cheeks. He was holding something out for Harry to take. “Here.”

Harry took it. “Lube?” he asked. “An actual bottle? Did you bring this with you?”

“No,” he admitted. “The, um, the Room seemed to think we’d need it. It was in here.” He gestured to the black box beside his bed, still closed, and Harry wondered what else could possibly be inside. “I don’t want to use spells this time, Harry.”

Harry bit his lip hard and nodded, his face hot as he clicked open the lid of the lube. He could have spent an endless amount of time thinking about how Draco Malfoy, who had been a pureblooded bastard for most of his life, was electing to use a muggle method instead of the wizarding way, but right now, Harry would say that he was rather preoccupied with staring at Draco’s arsehole and dribbling lube all over it. He watched as the man’s body quivered under the sudden coldness, thigh muscles tensing, threatening to come together and block Harry’s delightful view. Harry held out two fingers and squeezed another dollop of the lubricant onto them, proceeding then to drop the bottle and rub it in, greasing up his two fingers until they shone in the flickers of the candlelight around them. 

“You look beautiful,” Harry told him, pressing a kiss to the side of his thigh as he bent down. The pad of his index finger ran over Draco’s hole, gone as quickly as it had come, and Harry felt his heart rate increase at the small spasm that he had invoked in the leg his lips were pressed against. “You make me feel like the luckiest man on Earth.” 

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Draco said, not without another grin at his bitten lips. “If you’re really so grateful, why don’t you show me? Come on, don’t you want — don’t you want to be inside me?” 

Harry openly groaned at the words, pressing index finger to the opening and pushing in, determined to give Draco what he wanted. His eyes flickered between the sight of his finger disappearing to the look on Draco’s face, the bead of sweat trickling down his forehead, getting caught in the hair in his eyebrows. His heart was pounding as he allowed himself to twist his finger around, having to summon what little self-control he had left to just do that. He felt as though he was going to lose himself completely, as though he was going to become merely a passenger in this intimate moment. 

“Come on,” Draco cajoled. “Another. Another, come on. Please.”

Harry had to take another long moment for that to sink in. As he positioned his middle finger to slide in next, he wondered if it was not possible that this was not straight out of one of his wet dreams. Despite having fingered Draco before now, it still seemed something impossible, something mad and improbable. The mere  _ thought  _ of getting his fingers inside him has had Harry busting in his pants before. He’s not sure how he’s surviving right now. 

He slid in his middle finger alongside the first and actually felt the resistance this time, had to push a little harder to slide all the way in. His eyes focused on nothing except the way his eyes squeezed shut and the way that his fists dented the sheets, curling creases in them to try and ground himself in reality. Perhaps they were both on the edge of a different plane, Harry pondered, and continued to watch the way his mouth dropped open as he spread his fingers an inch apart. 

He reached down and absentmindedly wrapped his hand around his cock, jerking himself in slow, airy slides. As he did this he watched the way his fingers thrust in and out of the man in front of him, and on impulse he curled his fingers upwards, searching for the bundle of nerves that he knew would have Draco’s back arching, have his jaw unhinged and have his hands thrown over his face. 

He found it. And he knew the moment he had. 

His hand automatically began to move faster over his dick and he at once made to touch it once more. In seconds, both wrists were jerking back and forth, one over himself and the other slamming his fingers into Draco, curling at just the right moment so as to hit his prostate  _ again _ and  _ again — _ and bask at the way Draco responded to it. His hips began to rise and meet Harry’s hand, his head rolling side to side, saliva trickling down his cheeks, whimpers spilling from his wet lips. 

“ _ Ah — _ Oh,  _ fuck! _ ” he exclaimed, and Harry was suddenly eternally grateful that the Room of Requirement came with built-in silencing and privacy charms. “Harry — Harry, yeah,  _ oh —  _ Keep doing that, keep — yes, yes,  _ yeah —”  _

“Shit,” Harry muttered, raising his hand from his own erection to wipe some sweat off of his forehead. He felt as though he was hard enough to burst. Literally. If he didn’t cum in the next minute with this — with  _ this  _ sight in front of him, he thought he might actually implode. He decided that however embarrassing that may be in hindsight, it was worth it, and he reached down once more to grasp himself firmly, and he —

“No —” Draco said, breathless, and Harry ceased all movement at once. His wrist ached at the odd angle he’d frozen in, and he stared at the man beneath him, wide-eyed. 

“What is it?” Harry asked quickly. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m — Yes,” Draco said, chest rising and falling faster than Harry had ever seen it. He relaxed a little at the words, though, and the hand that he was going to place back on his cock found its way to Draco’s thigh, smoothing over his skin. “Don’t cum yet. Don’t — Don’t bring yourself off.”

“What?” he panted, casting a look back down to his dick, red with arousal, pre-cum glistening at the head. “Well, I think — I think one more touch will push me over the edge.” 

“Then, don’t touch yourself,” he responded simply, breathily. “Touch me. Please, put in another finger.” 

“Another?” Harry asked, surprise laden in both tone and facial expression. So far, he and Draco had not gone beyond two fingers delving into either one of them, and two fingers had more than done the job intended, in Harry’s experienced opinion. Plus, not that he didn’t terribly enjoy being knuckle deep in Draco’s arse, but it did tend to cramp his fingers after a while — and he couldn’t possibly see why adding another length of finger pain to the mix could possibly be worthwhile. 

“Yes, another,” Draco huffed. “Three.  _ Trois.”  _

“But, why?”

He watched his head roll again, along with his eyes as he did so. He said, “Because it will stretch me further, you idiot,” and then, after a moment’s silence, “I think — I think I would like you to fuck me.” 

Heat hung heavy in the air between them. Harry became hyper-aware of everything that was touching his body, that his body was touching. He became all too aware of the wet warmth around his fingers; of their hot breath mingling in the short space between them; of the way that their cocks both hung heavy between their legs, hardened and leaking for one another. 

The words, at last, sank in. Harry felt a jolt of electricity shoot down his abdomen straight down to his dick, which, had he managed to wrench his eyes away from Draco’s face for more than a second and looked downwards, visibly bounced in response to what he had said. 

“You,” Harry said simply. “You want.”

“I want  _ that —”  _ His eyes lowered to Harry’s penis, “In me. If you — If you would want that.” 

“If I,” he said. “If I would want.“ He blinked once, twice, three times. And again. Staring at Draco. He didn’t feel like he owned the body he was in. “If I would want that.” 

Draco stared back at him for a couple of seconds (though it might have been far longer — Harry had forgotten the concept of time) before he rolled to his side and stuck his hand inside the black box once again. Harry watched numbly. When his hand withdrew, it was holding a square packet with a colourful circle on the inside. 

“I was thinking of this, and the Room provided it, just — just in case you wanted to say yes. I mean, I’m not quite sure what it is, exactly, but Granger gave me one the other day and asked me to please be safe. So.” He held it out to Harry, who took it with a slack jaw, eyes working slowly onto it. 

“A condom,” Harry stated as if he were a robot designed to identify anything placed upon his palm. 

“Ah, is that what it is?” Draco asked. “Well, I assume it goes over your old boy, there.”

“My old — What?” He shook his head as if snapping out of a trance and couldn’t hide the laugh that escaped him. “Did you just call my cock ‘ _ old boy’? _ ”

“It’s a figure of speech!” he protested. “It’s just something people — people say!”

“You — Yeah, alright,” Harry laughed, and he pulled his fingers from inside of the man beneath him. “I felt a little nuts, wondering what was in that black box.” 

“Your Valentine’s Day present, maybe,” Draco suggested, and then, again, “If you — If you want me.” 

“If I want you… Draco, of course I want you.” 

“I sense a  _ but  _ coming. Why do I — Why do I sense a  _ but _ ?”

“ _ But, _ ” Harry said, and he smiled to reassure him. “I want, I think, for something to change before either of us lose our virginities to one another.” 

Draco’s eyebrow quirked upwards and he eyed Harry wearily, his gaze dropping to his Dark Mark, to the scar on his chest, before they shot to his face again. He asked, “And what is that?” 

“Well,” he said, smiling sweetly still, not wanting Draco to get the wrong idea before the truth came spilling out. “Before I make love to the person I - I do love, I’d like him to be my boyfriend first.” He took a deep breath. “Officially.” 

Draco’s gaze immediately broke away from the nervous expression he’d had, and took on instead one of momentary surprise. Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his eyes grow that wide before and he wondered for a moment whether it was healthy. 

“You,” he stammered. “You want me to be your boyfriend? Officially?”

Harry nodded. “Officially. We already said that we belong to each other, didn't we?”

“We did,” he agreed breathlessly. He still looked as though he’d just discovered magic for the first time. 

“I know that you didn’t want to be in a romantic relationship with Logan. I don’t know if you’ll want that with me, but I do. I want that. With you. You know, if you want.” 

“Logan was never even a contender. Logan… What I had with Logan is a grain of sand in an ocean compared to what I— what I have with you,” Draco whispered, as though he was afraid of his own voice spilling such secrets, and lunged upwards, catching Harry’s lips in a deep, deep kiss. He kissed him like he was afraid Harry was going to go back on his offer, retract it and leave him with nothing, not even hope. He kissed him, nibbled his lips and sucked in his tongue as though it would ensure him a life with Harry, a happy life, comfortable, with just the two of them alone, in this room, on this bed. 

His head spun as he kissed him back, just as hot, just as hard, just as full of passion as Draco was giving him, pushing and pulling against each other — a dance they were both trying to lead. They melted against each other and both felt as though they were aeons away from needing breath. Breathing was secondary to kissing, right now — secondary to each other’s mouths and tongues and lips and teeth and… He’d go blue before he stopped this now. 

Draco kissed him like he was just as in love with Harry as Harry was with him. Harry supposed that it wasn’t impossible. Not with the way that Draco’s eyes gleamed when he looked at him, or how his body opened with every vulnerability to him, or some of the words that flew from his mouth with care. Not with the way his tongue danced with Harry’s, unsure whose saliva was whose anymore, lips almost bruised. Draco released periodic whimpers that came straight from his throat and Harry’s heart sang with each and every one. 

“Yes,” Draco breathed, and for a second, so caught up in the kiss, Harry forgot what he was responding to. “Merlin,  _ yes.  _ Harry, I want to be with you.” 

“Oh, shit,  _ good,”  _ Harry panted, biting down on his bottom lip for a second before moving hurriedly to his jawline, nibbling down on the smooth skin there as well.  _ He shaved this morning,  _ Harry thought incoherently. “You — Mm, fuck, you should lie down again.”

“I should,” he agreed, tilting his head back further and exposing more of his throat — how could Harry resist? “But you’re — Like a dementor, sucking me right now.” 

He mumbled against his pulse, “Am I touching your soul?”

Draco told him, “A little bit.” 

Harry caught him by his upper thighs and pulled his legs out from under him, watching with a smile as he flopped down against the sheets again with a sharp intake of shock. Harry didn’t give him time to register the action before he was over him again, kissing down his chest and flicking his nipples as he did so. When he got to his navel he stopped for a second, observing the lustful look in Draco’s expression, the clear  _ want  _ flooding his eyes and his open mouth, and then he licked a hot stripe up the underside of Draco’s cock without another breath.

Harry immediately felt a shot of pain come from the top of his head as Draco yanked at his hair in surprise. It didn’t deter him, however, and the grip in his hair was soon tightening as Harry’s lips enveloped the head of his erection, suckling lightly and not going further than the tip, yet. His tongue circled and dipped in ways he’d become accustomed to Draco liking. Ways that made him writhe, made his toes curl. 

“You make me feel like a natural at this,” Harry said, continuing their earlier game. “Your reactions are really flattering.”

“Shut up,” he breathed. “You had a good teacher, that’s all.”

“I really did,” he agreed and took half of Draco’s penis into his mouth. He did not gag like he once did, now more than practised in the delicate art of blowjobs, if he did say so himself. And he did, backed up by Draco’s ongoing  _ yes _ ’s and  _ oh, more, please _ ’s. He lapped up the erection like it was amortentia, sucking him up and down, up and down, taking it once, twice all the way down his throat before returning to pay attention to the tip. 

He pulled off, then, far too soon and fully aware of that fact. His heart hammered with excitement when he saw Draco’s questioning and, frankly, slightly scary expression staring down at him, and he chuckled when the man raised his hips in an attempt to get Harry’s mouth back on him once again. 

“Bastard,” Draco huffed, letting go of Harry’s hair and gripping a handful of the sheets beneath him. 

“You should be nicer to your boyfriend,” Harry told him, a grin splitting his lips. It only became wider at the subsequent pinkness that tinged Draco’s face and the tips of his ears. “I want to try something.”

There was a second or so before Draco said, “Oh?”

“You gave me the idea, actually,” he said, running his hands up Draco’s spread thighs. “In that magazine that you sent me at Christmas.”

He watched Draco’s throat jump as he gulped. “That could be a great many things, Harry.”

Harry leant down. He gazed at the bottom of Draco’s thigh, at that scar which had affected him for so long, too long, now, and he hastily pressed his lips to it. He heard Draco gasp and kept his lips to it anyway, but only for about a second more. It was a curious muddle of a thing in Harry’s head; he wanted to show Draco that he cared about him, loved him, despite what he’d been scarred with — however, he knew that Draco probably didn’t want to focus on it for too long. He may be a bit of a drama queen at times, Harry knew only too well, but he knew the man didn’t like to be seen as weak. 

The world had seemed to close in on the two of them. Harry at once forgot about anything external, anything that wasn’t right here in this room. He moved away from Draco’s scar and continued leaving pecks downwards, before he lapped for a moment for two at his sac, making Draco’s curious demeanour immediately lose all form. He ushered a moan or two and bucked his hips upwards again, and Harry accepted the persistence, tongue flattening over his balls and taking one side into his mouth, suckling pleasantly. 

But he pulled away, leaving Draco groaning once more. 

“Are you destined to get under my skin?” he asked, and Harry chuckled, rubbing his thigh again. 

“Maybe,” he said. “You remember what my favourite spread of that magazine was?” 

“I’m not terribly likely to forget very soon, am I?” he said, and then added in a sultry tone, “Professor?”

A jolt of arousal ran right to Harry’s cock, but he pushed that thought away immediately.  _ Another time,  _ he told himself, putting the sound and sight of Draco Malfoy spread naked in front of him and purring the word  _ Professor  _ into a dark corner of his mind to be used when he is very, very lonely. 

“Do you remember what the Professor is doing in it?” he asked. “I do. I think about it nearly every day.”

“What’s that, Po— Harry? I dare say you’ve had it so long now that it slips my mind, a little. That, and the fact that I was a little more focused on one of the proceeding pages…” 

“I’d like to eat you out,” Harry told him plainly, watching Draco’s ears turn pink again. “Not only because I think it will — prepare you more for, erm, if we have sex today… But because, to be honest, Draco, I really,  _ really  _ want to.”

Draco’s lips were parted and Harry wanted to stick his tongue between them, when he said, “You really want to do that?”

“I really do.”

“Fuck,” he hummed. “Say it again. Please,  _ please,  _ say that again.”

“I want to eat you out,” Harry repeated. “God, so bad. ‘Want to taste you. Get my tongue in you. I’ve been thinking about it ever since I saw that damned spread.” 

“Oh, fuck,  _ yes _ , please.”

“Anyone ever done this to you before?” he asked, not all that bothered about whether he’d like the answer. 

But Draco immediately shook his head, vanquishing any possessive streak that might have taken Harry’s mind away with him. “No,” he confirmed. “The furthest I ever — Logan, fingers —” 

“Then we’ll do this for the first time together, yeah? Is that alright?” 

“That’s more than alright, Harry. Go on, I’m ready, go on.”

His legs dropped apart a little more, and Harry was certain that the man’s thighs were probably going to ache a little after this, but the thought made him lick his lips. The idea that Draco would be constantly reminded of the fact that they’d done this, that Harry had been nudging his legs apart like this, settling between them, made his arousal grow somehow stronger, made his heart beat harder and made his head spin a little more. 

Harry pressed his lips to Draco’s hole and waited for only a moment whilst Draco flinched back at the new and odd feeling. He opened his mouth when he looked up and saw Draco nodding at him fervently, urging him onward, and his tongue surged forwards, licking. Harry could taste the mildness of the lubrication mixed with Draco’s musk and sweat, and he fervently continued on, taking lick after lick at his entrance. 

Draco’s sweet moans sang only praise and enthusiasm at Harry’s actions, and he pushed further, gripping at both cheeks with his hands and digging his fingers deep into his flesh. Heart rates flew high and Harry could almost feel his own in his throat, hear his pulse in his ears, and he charged forth anyway, refusing to himself the option to focus on anything that wasn’t Draco Malfoy. He consciously tensed his tongue and pressed it firmly against the ring of skin, using his thumb to pull the skin beside it, rendering it open, more accessible. After a moment or two of trying to pass, Harry pulled back slightly, taking fast breaths, looking up at his partner’s face through his spread thighs. 

“What was it you said to me?” Harry murmured. “You need to  _ relax. _ ”

“Don’t you go and think you have the authority to give  _ me  _ advice, now that you’ve had a little experience!”

“A  _ little  _ experience? I think I’ve had more than a little with you, Draco.” 

“Prove it, then,” he panted, throwing one arm over his forehead, over his blond hair that had darkened and stuck to his skin with sweat. “Fuck me with your tongue, Harry, please.”

And again, Harry was a weak, weak man. 

He dove back down and continued to lap at the furled skin between his cheeks, every now and then pausing and lifting his head to lap at his balls, sucking them into his mouth before continuing with his primary objective. Just before he was ready to go one step further, he dug his fingers into Draco’s skin, holding him steady, and then pushed his tongue past the ring of muscle. The newfound warmth was a strange sensation - snug heat surrounding him up to a certain point, tightness enveloping it in a way that made him almost frightened to move. But he did. He waited for the sudden frantic breathing coming from Draco to slow down ever so slightly and then, with a burst of lust and confidence, he pushed his tongue forwards. 

There was a rough eagerness to Harry’s actions that came with a promise of further touch; the way he’d dip in his fingers to stretch it further; the way he’d slow down to make sure that Draco was comfortable. He fucked him with his tongue as he was asked to do — though it stretched beyond something that was just preparation. Harry acted as though he enjoyed every inch of this action as much as Draco did, and he felt as though that could be accurate. With each moan that tumbled from Draco’s bitten lips, Harry only ploughed on with more enthusiasm. He could bathe in this, he thought, in the sensation of giving pleasure, in the knowledge that Draco was only writhing around on his back because of  _ him.  _ He’d drink in the fact that he, Harry Potter, had Draco Malfoy saying  _ please  _ over and over again like it was ambrosia, or the finest wine ever made, or sweet champagne to be drunk on a posh New Year’s Eve. 

Harry thought back for just a moment on how he would have reacted if he’d been able to see a glimpse of his fate here, back when he was, what, sixteen? How he would have gone pink — spluttered — not believed a single edge or curve of the sight he’d be witnessing. A view, filled so highly with desire that it would be bursting at the seams, like a painting about to explode for simply exuding  _ too much  _ feeling. Harry, with a perpetual kiss against Draco’s most private spot on his body. Draco, with one arm draped over his dripping forehead like Harry’d imagined fair maidens in old fairy tales, the other arm outstretched, fingers entangled in Harry’s untameable curls and pulling him forwards. The ghost of  _ more, more,  _ on his lips and his palms. 

Harry figured that he would have to say something sometime soon. His mouth preoccupied at the second in question, he thought he was clear for now, but his cock was throbbing painfully down between his legs and with every second he spent  _ not _ buried balls deep in Draco was a second bloody wasted, if you asked him. 

After another graceful minute or so, Harry pulled away and said to him, “Is it possible to cum just from this?”

“Huh?” Draco asked, his voice thick with breath. He tilted his head up to look down at Harry once again, who had to hold in either a chuckle or a whimper at the untidiness that had become of his hair, darkened slightly now due to sweat. “I — I don’t know. I feel like I might.” 

“You don’t know?” he chuckled, the tickle of his breath on his wet skin making Draco twitch a little. “You’re meant to be my source of infinite knowledge.”

“S- Sorry,” Draco huffed, blowing some hair out of his eye. He swung one leg over Harry’s shoulder. “Come on, why don’t we find out?”

Harry placed a palm to the leg, sweat on sweat. He licked his lips and asked, “Eager?”

Draco’s eyes lidded. Harry’s gaze remained on them firmly, though he was tempted for a moment by the pale fingers dragging up to his collarbone, skimming the flesh. His mouth fell open for a second, and then he said to Harry, his tongue glistening still, “Curious?” 

It sent a  _ pang _ right through Harry’s navel, familiar and hot, and his dick jumped with enthusiasm at just the sound of the fucking word being uttered from those lips. 

“Nothing makes me feel as curious as you do,” he told him, voice thick with every emotion pumping through his veins. “You know, the only reason I started to question my sexuality was because I’d heard what you’d been caught doing, and I couldn’t stop fucking thinking about it.” 

“Did you think about it? Picture it?”

“All the time. I wouldn’t shut up about it, either. My friends thought I was insane.”

“Maybe you are. You  _ did  _ just decide to be Draco Malfoy’s boyfriend, after all.”

Harry smiled at him, sitting upon his knees. He flicked his fingers, casting an unspoken charm upon himself, and felt a wash of minty freshness in his mouth. His eyes found his face. “I fail to see, especially right now, why that would ever be an insane thing to do.”

Draco’s gaze wavered from one of Harry’s eyes to the other, before dropping to his lips. “You’re not planning on getting that mouth back on me?” 

“I’d like to kiss you,” Harry said, and bent down to do so. Draco let him, welcoming both lips and tongue, and Harry chuckled only a little bit at the frown on his face when he pulled away. “And,” Harry continued, “I feel like I’d like to make love to you now.”

He could practically see the blood rushing up to Draco’s cheeks. 

“Make love,” he repeated, as if testing the words out, his eyes scanning Harry’s face. “Only you would make it sound so…”

“Accurate?” Harry supplied. “I’m not going to say I’m going to  _ fuck you.  _ Not this time. This time, I want to make you feel the best you’ve ever felt, so much so that you say my name, your wishes, how good it feels, over and over, until you’ve got nothing left in you but to tell me you love me too.”

Draco’s eyes reflected something that Harry supposed might be akin to everything he’d just said. Pupils blown, eyebrows up, a little shiny gleam around his irises. He stroked Harry’s cheekbone with his thumb, his gaze flying to his lips before returning to their joint stare, and he said to him, “You don’t need to be inside of me for me to admit to that,” and he paused, just for a second, before continuing in a low purr, “But I’ll do whatever if it means you hurry up.” 

Harry grabbed hold of the condom and ripped open the packet, saying a small  _ thank you _ to the room in his head, because whilst Harry knew that they’d been doing things for long enough now that if they were going to catch something from each other, they would have done already — at least this way it meant that Harry wouldn’t have to lie to Hermione about it. He could practically already hear her reaction when she finds out about this; “ _ And you — you made sure you were safe?”  _

Slipping the condom on over himself was a damn bit more fiddly than he would’ve liked, trying not to let it tear, but he managed it. Draco laughed and made a joke about  _ The Boy Who Lived  _ managing such a devastatingly difficult task and Harry subsequently gave him a rap on the side of his butt, eliciting a teasing smile from the both of them, their gazes not daring to part. Harry could’ve counted every one of his individual eyelashes, every speck of blue in his pretty grey eyes as he moved forwards, looking over him. His knees fit either side of Draco’s ass and Draco spread his legs accordingly, only the faintest traces of embarrassment still there, settling his legs around Harry’s body. 

Harry stroked himself a few more times over the condom as he allowed his eyes to survey Draco’s body, to get a sense of what it would feel like and was pleasantly surprised at the lack of difference. The condom spared no feeling as he touched himself, preparing for what was about to come, and he had to force himself to place his hands on the bed instead before he accidentally brought himself too close to the brink again. 

He began to lather himself with more lube after doing the same generously to Draco’s asshole, his gaze flicking between what he was doing and the way that the pale, scarred chest began rising and falling with attractive anticipation. It had hit them both at that moment, how truly close this was, how threateningly and excitingly real, how nothing could stop the two of them and how they could, and would, never go back to the way they were before this happened, before Christmas at the Burrow happened, before Harry had gotten so curious. Harry licked his lips and thought to himself,  _ well, my biggest question is about to be answered.  _

He pressed the head of his dick to Draco’s rim, jaw dropping as he watched every second closely, and gave Draco one last look of question, which was promptly answered with a rather enthusiastic nod before he pushed himself past the ring of tight muscle and Harry broke out into a sweat he had previously thought impossible. 

It was the hottest thing he had ever felt, in more ways than one. Like experiencing a blowjob for the first-ever time again, when you sheath yourself in the heat and it hits you all at once, such a new and perfect sensation that Harry could understand why people would become addicted to this, why they would pay for it. He’s not only lucky to be doing it at all, he’s lucky to be doing it with the man he is — Draco fucking Malfoy, laid out with a cock penetrating him, hair askew and jaw almost unhinged, eyes screwed shut as he presumably makes sense of the painful stretch and incoming pleasure. 

Harry took a deep breath to ground himself, caught his thoughts quickly from running away, and raised one hand to cup the side of Draco’s face. He spoke, his voice croaky with surprise and arousal, and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Draco responded at once, voice wavering, his thighs tightening around Harry’s midsection. “Salazar, come on, Harry. Come on, you can — You can go in all the way.”

“You sure?” Harry asked. “I don’t want to hurt you. We can stop, if you —”

“ _ Harry Potter _ ,” Draco interrupted firmly. “We are  _ not  _ stopping now. I just need to get used to it, so  _ please,  _ for the love of all things good,  _ get the fuck in!”  _

He didn’t need to tell Harry twice. Slowly but surely, he pushed himself in further, beads of sweat literally rolling down his temples, until Draco was panting like a dog beneath him, head thrown back and arm strewn across his forehead and Harry was fully inside of him, his hips firmly against Draco’s ass. 

“Oh, fuck,” Harry murmured, the urge to thrust mounting inside of him. “Draco, fuck, how are you? Is this — Is this okay?” 

“Mm,” Draco said in return, and Harry was momentarily worried that he couldn’t tell the difference between a hum of appreciation and a strangle of distress. Then, “Fuck, you just feel so  _ big,  _ give — give me a second or two.”

A second or two. Harry could deal with that. It would take every single inch of self-control that he could muster, but he could deal with that. As long as he focused on things that  _ weren’t _ Draco, or Draco’s nipples looking like they needed to be touched, or Draco’s hair looking like it needed to have a hand buried in it, or Draco’s neck looking like it needed to have a set of lips on it, or Draco’s toes curling against his back, his legs pulling him in closer, as if he wouldn’t be able to bear it if Harry dared to leave him at this moment. 

“Fuck,” Harry whispered, leaning down, dropping his head and catching Draco’s lips with his own. His fingers trailed over skin until they reached Draco’s cock and encircled it, offering a distraction for them both. Harry surged on as he heard a distinct huff of pleasure and felt a definitive bolt of energy spur into the lips he was kissing, continuing to jerk his fist between the two of them. 

With every random thrust of Draco’s hips, Harry had to take a five-second cool down, struggling to stay stationary with temptations held in every movement. It was such a feeble attempt of trying  _ so hard _ not to start thrusting that when Draco broke their kiss and whispered to him, “Move, you can move, slowly,” Harry almost lost his mind. 

He withdrew himself — slowly, as he was told — and lasted all of five seconds of missing the warmth before he dove back in, forcing himself with sheer willpower to accommodate Draco as he bottomed out once more. 

“Does it feel good?” Harry heard, and didn’t trust his voice enough to answer verbally so he nodded frantically, pressing his open mouth to Draco’s jaw. He felt him chuckle, even that breathless. Draco continued, “You have to — To tell me how I make you feel, remember?”

“Fuck,” he said again. His teeth skimmed his jawline, and he turned to suck on the skin after it. “Fuck.”

“Quite,” Draco responded with a chuckle. “Faster. Come on, faster, please.”

Harry moved his lips to Draco’s neck — his comfort blanket, of sorts — and slowly began to quicken his pace. He moved his hips back and forth tentatively, as if Draco might change his mind at any moment, his dick sliding in and out of him as his fingers had done routinely now. 

“Like that?” he whispered. 

“Mm,” came the reply, Draco dropping his head back against the soft pillow, arching his back a little. “Yeah,” he breathed, “Yeah, like that. Keep doing that.”

Harry kept aiming where he didn’t realise he was aiming, realising that he must have been inadvertently brushing over that spot inside of Draco that always made his eyes and his mouth water and his neck elongate, all the more room for Harry to kiss. 

“I don’t feel like this is real,” Harry murmured, and his voice did break a little bit. “Fuck, no fucking way anything can feel this good…”

“ _ Oh,  _ oh, shit, it’s real —” the man beneath him said, broken off by a gasp, and Harry could  _ feel _ his chest rising and falling faster, felt the way his legs tightened around him. “Harry —”

“Like that?” Harry asked, voice low, acting as if he knew what he was doing so well. He grabbed hold of his dick again and Draco’s hand flew to Harry’s hair. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he insisted, nodding, pulling Harry up to kiss him again, yanking him away from yet another love bite. 

The sensation of finally getting a good and consistent rhythm of snapping his hips upwards was making Harry feel dizzy. Never before had he experienced such a blooming and insistent desire to  _ fuck,  _ to completely lose his mind and stay here, like this, with Draco forever, the man beneath him kissing him like he was, squeezing around Harry’s dick every time Harry did something that was overwhelmingly  _ perfect.  _ The oily slickness made it so easy to move, as if Draco’s behind had been made for this — as if it had been made for him, Harry, to open him up and make love to him like there wasn’t going to be another tomorrow. 

Being able to see Draco’s face, gauge every reaction to every movement, helped. It helped not only with aiding Harry’s ever-growing arousal but also with his technique. Harry festered no worries wondering whether Draco would just keep quiet if he was doing something wrong that hurt or made him uncomfortable — he knew that he would get an earful as soon as he made a wrong move, dug his fingers too deep into his skin. He liked that he didn’t need to fret at all, from his pleasured expressions to his open and unrelenting mouth.

“You make me feel —” Harry began, his speech all breath, sweat trickling down his head as he watched the man below him get rocked up and down, up and down against the vibrant colours of the sheets beneath them both. “The best I— I’ve ever  _ fucking  _ felt…”

“ _ Harry,”  _ Draco returned, sounding like it was both a chore to bring about the effort to speak and like he’d die if he didn’t express every single one of his many thoughts. “H- Harry, more —  _ Fuck,  _ yeah, keep - keep fucking me like this. Please, Harry, don’t stop, don’t - don’t stop—!”

“Believe me,” he said quietly, “I’m not planning on it any time soon.” 

He captured Draco’s lips once more and for the time being muffled his words of plea. However much Harry liked hearing them, he thought that there was quite literally nothing better on Earth than touching, kissing him. His tongue in his mouth, hand on his dick, dick in his ass, he enraptured him, surrounded him, made them almost one. 

The hand between them continued to move with a fervency that only added to the never-ending mumble of ecstatic and beautiful moans and noises coming out of Draco’s mouth and flooding against his own. Harry could feel it — the exact moment when his jaw twitched and he started to struggle to kiss back, the way that his legs seized up around Harry’s waist, and Harry nudged his lips against his throat instead. He gave it one, two, three open-mouthed kisses, ignoring his body telling him to suck even more marks onto it; to give him a million love-bites so that all of Hogwarts knows to leave Draco Malfoy alone — that he is Harry’s, and Harry is his. 

Instead, he hummed against his skin, getting his body ready for speech once more (as every single break he took from using his vocal cords for something other than breathy moans and grunts was becoming longer and harder to break away from due to his panting) and saying against the pulse point in Draco’s throat, “Are you gonna cum?”

“‘Don’t want to yet,” Draco said. “But I also - I also  _ really  _ don’t want you to —  _ mm —  _ to stop what you’re d- doing — Oh,  _ Merlin! _ ”

Harry snapped his hips forward again and wondered belatedly whether or not  _ he  _ was actually going to be able to last much longer, let alone Draco. He was surprised that he’d even lasted this long, to tell the truth of it, impossibly pleased with himself that he hadn’t shot off the first moment that he’d bottomed out inside of him. 

“Look at you,” he whispered, after giving one last nibble to his throat and straightening up again, staring down at his boyfriend in all of his sweaty, breathy pleasure. “Keep making expressions like - like that, baby, and I might not be able to go on any longer, myself…”

But Draco’s face twisted into something even more attractive, somehow, eyes rolling for a moment into the back of his head, and he stared at Harry with the most sultry expression he’d ever given him. “Oh,  _ fuck _ , call me that again.”

Harry paused, unsure for a moment what he was even talking about, not having realised he’d even called him anything in the first place. And then it sunk in, and he gave Draco a grin that earned him one of his infamous pretty eye rolls that he’d become so acquainted with by now. 

“Baby?” Harry asked, pushing in deeply as he could, his hip bones pressing flush against Draco’s ass. “Christ, you like that?”

“Yeah,” he said, back arching and legs tightening around Harry’s midsection. “Again, again,  _ please. _ ”

Harry withdrew himself slightly and watched a slow pout begin to form on his partner’s face before he pushed back inside again, and asked him, “How have we been —  _ ngh — _ fucking all this time, and I never knew that you liked to be called baby?”

Draco’s fingers fisted the sheets as he said, “You never asked.” 

“O- Oh? Is there anything else you want to let me know about?” he asked, slipping his thumb over the tip of Draco’s cock and pressing down, his fingers and hand moving otherwise with the rhythmic rocking of Draco’s body. His other hand is gripping Draco’s hip, keeping him steady, holding a focus to make sure he didn’t slip, to make sure that nothing could possibly interrupt the pattern he’d gotten going with each thrust. But he wanted nothing more now than to let go and hold onto his partner’s hand, hold it close to his chest. 

“I’m sure you’ll d- discover —  _ Oh,  _ you — You’re so — Yes, yes,  _ yes!” _

“There?” Harry asked, his breathing speeding up to match the pace of his hips. “There, baby?” 

“Uh-huh,” he told him, nodding his head with fervour. The hand that wasn’t entangled in the bedsheets found Harry’s chest, both of their skin slick with sweat, and he dug small scratches into his flesh, like he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t bear to let go. “Please, don’t stop. Don’t stop, don’t  _ stop-!” _

Harry couldn’t even fathom  _ dreaming  _ of stopping right now, not when the familiar, overwhelming build-up of heat was beginning to pool in the pit of his stomach, a pressure in his abdomen growing ever-stronger. With each additional wet smack of skin-on-skin that the Room heard, Harry felt his balls draw tighter, getting ready; his body was more aware than he was at this moment of the wonders of Draco Malfoy and how they could draw you in so completely, so staggeringly and orgasmically. 

“Fuck,” Harry grunted, fingers grasping so hard at Draco’s hip that for the split second of clear-headedness that he could muster, he was worried that he might leave bruises, and he forced himself to relax, even as waves of impending climax washed over him. “Oh,  _ fuck,  _ Draco, baby, I think I -”

“No, no, please, not yet,” he responded, each word sounding like it snatched the breath out of him. Every single syllable was practically punctuated by a moan. His hand snaked down and wrapped itself around Harry’s atop of his cock, and his back flew off of the bed, neck arched like a swan as he too succumbed to what seemed to be his incoming orgasm. He blindly guided Harry’s hand, slick with sweat and pre-cum and earlier lube, rubbing his dick up and down as if in a frenzy. Harry understood all too well. In a desperate effort to keep up the pace (as his boyfriend was so enthusiastically requesting of him), Harry had driven himself right to the edge, holding on merely by that same willpower that renders him impregnable to the imperius curse. He could now  _ feel  _ the sweat trickling down the side of his face, could feel his dick about to explode if he kept this up.

“Draco -” he began, more than ready to profusely apologise after the fact, if it meant that he could cum right at that moment and not hold off any longer. 

“ _ Fuck! _ ” Draco exclaimed, his thighs tightening almost painfully around Harry’s midsection, his toes curling and his head slamming back against the pillow. His face contorted in a pretty ‘O’ that looked as though it could go perfectly well right alongside the definition of complete and total ecstasy. On a whim, Harry released his hip that was steadying him and instead reached forth to place his palm to Draco’s face, cupping his cheek and almost losing his mind when Draco leaned into it, turning to almost hide his face in his hand. Saliva was dripping onto his skin but Harry found that he could not care one bit less, as he watched Draco’s eyes screw tightly shut and heard one final moan, and felt a splash of cum shoot out and over Harry’s hand and Draco’s own stomach. 

The concoction of pleasure was entirely inordinate and clouded Harry’s mind more than it was already. Desperately, he pushed into Draco’s body, finally able to stop holding off from orgasm, and he stared deeply at Draco’s face, watching him closely as his hip movements stuttered and he came into the condom inside of him with his name flooding out of his lips. 

When he pulled out of him, unsure of how much time had passed, he flopped onto the sheets beside his boyfriend and wordlessly  _ vanished  _ the condom and all of the mess inside of it. Draco turned automatically towards him, laying his head on Harry’s shoulder and draping his arm across Harry’s wildly beating chest. Harry tucked an arm underneath him and gazed down at him, his mind somehow simultaneously unable to think anything coherent but also unable to slow down.

“You’re grinning like a loon,” he heard Draco say, though when Harry looked down, he himself was wearing one of the biggest smiles Harry had ever seen.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked. “Says you. And besides, I think I have  _ a brilliant  _ reason to be. Perhaps the best reason of all.”

“Hm,” Draco hummed, “I could say the same for myself.”

Harry watched as Draco pushed himself up to kiss him, holding his jaw gently in his fingers, and he kissed him back with all of the sweetness that he could envelop in one kiss. Draco tasted beautiful but worn out, and Harry could tell that they were going to drift away shortly. He was suddenly thankful for the delicate comfort given by the Room; the soft pillows and sheets that were clearly meant for more than just sex. 

Draco threw his leg over Harry’s hips and said, voice muffled slightly as he spoke into Harry’s skin, “I want to get under the covers.”

“Mm,” he said, “Okay.”

“I can’t move,” he mumbled. 

“Magic it.”

“Ugh.” He stuck up a hand, shaking it, and Harry recognised that he wasn’t actually doing any magic. “Oh, mighty Room, please lend us another duvet before our naked bums freeze to death.”

“No,” Harry chuckled. “You don’t ask, you have to —”

But a thick, fluffy duvet appeared over the both of them, tucking them in tightly. Draco pressed a kiss to his shoulder, a satisfied smirk over his face, and laid back down again. “It's fun being right,” he said.

Harry nudged him slightly. “I just lost my virginity, excuse me if my mind is lacking.”

“I know it’s hard to intellectually keep up with me,” he said, and a yawn stole over his features. Harry kissed him gently on the top of his head, and a warm blanket of silence settled over the both of them. He studied every inch of the ceiling he could whilst sleep crept up to them, tugging at the end of the bed.

Harry was only an inch away from letting it consume him when he heard Draco’s voice again, startling him back to reality. He said, “You know, I think I may be on the edge of falling in love with you, too.”

Words didn’t come to him immediately, and so he just hugged him tighter, held him closer. 

Eventually, when he thought Draco was already asleep, he said, “You make me feel impossible.”

But Draco replied quietly, “You already are.”


	7. The Last Supper: Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue!
> 
> WONDERFUL ARTWORK DONE FOR THIS FIC CAN BE FOUND [HERE](https://twitter.com/grimler19/status/1304865178559885313?s=21) BY THE LOVELY @Grimler19 CHECK THEM OUT ❤️❤️❤️

“Well,” said Ron, raising his hand to lean against, elbow on the table. “Who’d’ve thought that we’d be spending our last night in Hogwarts _voluntarily_ eating dinner with Draco bloody Malfoy?”

“I’m definitely not complaining,” Harry said, rubbing Draco’s thigh under the table. Draco tapped his hand away from him, raising an eyebrow that plainly said _Not right now._

“I know someone who _is_ complaining,” he sighed, and met Pansy’s eye down the table. Harry watched him wave at her; her subsequent pout and middle finger. Draco groaned and turned back to them. “I won’t hear the end of this, you know. I hope you understand that I may lose my best girl over sitting with you lot instead of her on our last night.”

Harry huffed. “Nothing stopping her coming over and joining us.”

Hermione put down her knife and fork and looked between them, over to Pansy, and back again. “I think Pansy is rather preoccupied trying to convince that Kumar Singh over there to meet her over Summer. He’s a seventh year. I overheard her asking Blaise to be her wingman.”

“Ah. A position that I normally take. I see, now.” Draco picked up another slice of bread and took a large bite. “I suppose I’ll have to accept that my new life will be subjected to only the Golden Trio for company.”

“God, please don’t call us that…” Harry huffed.

“No, no, please do call us that!” Ron interjected. “It’s like — It’s cool, isn’t it?”

Draco held down a snort as Hermione rolled her eyes, her hand rising to pat her boyfriend gently on the cheek. “Ron,” she said, exasperation mixed with affection in her tone, and Harry was wildly reminded of Draco with himself. “We don’t need a nickname, do we? After all, I don’t recall any of what we did being particularly _golden._ ”

“I agree with Granger,” Draco said, a pattern of which he’d become strangely accustomed to saying over the last few months. “You’re all very well known without such a thing. And Harry here isn’t exactly the Golden Boy that the press makes him out to be, either.”

“Hey!” he protested, nudging Draco’s shoulder with his own. “I’m extremely golden, thank you.”

“Yes, and I fancy Sprout,” he scoffed. “A real Golden Boy would shower more than three times a week, and not leave his bloody socks lying about everywhere.”

“Oh, Merlin, I know!” Ron cried. “Seven years, I’ve been living with that mess.”

“My Lord, and the bedsheets?”

“All over the floor! How do you even manage that, mate?”

Harry shrugged, a grin stretching over his face as he said, “Draco’s been kind of helping me with that last one.”

Draco groaned, his cheeks flushing pink, as Ron fake-gagged. “Yeah, alright,” he said. “We get it, you two are randier than hippogriffs in heat.”

“Leave them be,” Hermione told him. There was a teasing smile on her face as she proceeded to say to them, “It’s not like we’re much better.”

It was Ron’s turn to blush now, his eyes roaming over his girlfriend’s body without any trace of subtlety, until she cleared her throat and he promptly turned a deep shade of rouge. Harry pointed his finger into his mouth and pretended to gag just how Ron had done, ducking just as his friend shot a jinx at his head. 

A familiar voice yelped from behind him, an obviously innocent passerby who happened to be walking in the wrong place at the wrong time, or so Harry thought. He turned around in his seat and saw that the person whom the jinx had hit had been walking right towards the four of them, intent placed solely upon the man on Harry’s left.

“Hello, Harry,” Logan said once he noticed him staring. “You alright? I was wondering if I could perhaps have a word with Draco?”

Harry forced his jaw back into place, aware that it had been hanging ajar ever since he’d laid eyes on him. He didn’t have to nudge Draco now to get his attention; he had already turned around, his eyes looking upon Logan with profound confusion. The monster inside of Harry was already unfurling, and he had the sudden urge to reach out and hold Draco’s hand, to pull him over to sit on his lap, to point to his neck and all of the small marks he’d left there and show him just who is able to do that now.

But he didn’t do any of that. Draco nodded to Logan and pressed a gentle kiss to Harry’s cheek, and that was enough to satisfy him; enough to address the green monster inside of him and send him back into a light sleep, at least for now.

He watched Draco walk out of the hall with Logan until they were out of sight. When he returned to face his food once again it was to find worried friends, inquiring with just their expressions. Harry shrugged, as he knew no more than they did, and popped another forkful of lasagna into his mouth with a sweaty hand. 

He, Ron and Hermione discussed the evening to come, the promise of tomorrow taking them into their first proper step of adulthood. This was the last time they would sit down for a meal together in the Great Hall. Tomorrow would be the last time they would ever ride the Hogwarts Express. They agreed on the excitement, differed on some of the fears, and Harry input some of Draco’s opinions on the matter of moving on like this, in such a grand way, since he was too preoccupied to do so himself. He recalled discussing the matter with him whilst the two of them lay side by side in bed, unsure of the future, but being unsure of it together.

Dessert had arrived by the time that Draco came back from his chat with Logan, and he startled Harry so much when he sat back down next to him that he almost choked on his treacle tart.

“What did he want?” Harry asked, watching Logan return to the Ravenclaw table with narrowed eyes. Draco took his hand, squeezing it gently, and looked up for a moment to check that Ron and Hermione were minding their own business (they weren’t, but they’d gotten good at pretending by now.)

“He wanted to say goodbye,” he told him. “He’s moving to America for advanced schooling, and he wants to pursue a career there afterwards. He said that it’s unlikely we’ll ever cross paths again, and so he wanted to wish me goodwill and good luck for the future.” Draco lifted his hand slowly and brushed some curls out of Harry’s face. He added, “And he also wanted to congratulate me for finding somebody like you to be in a relationship with. He knew that I —” He took a breath. “He knew that it was always you, for me. I think he knew that he never really… No, he never really had a chance.”

Harry took his hand in his own and kissed his knuckles, unsure of how to respond in light of just who it was that they were talking about. He settled finally upon, “He was right to congratulate you.”

And he couldn’t help but mirror Draco’s proceeding smile, spreading across his face and cutting adorable laugh lines into his cheeks. 

“You’re an arrogant bugger,” Draco told him.

“Yeah, maybe,” Harry hummed. “But you love me.”

Harry let his eyes flutter shut as he saw Draco lean in to kiss him, gladly accepted it when it came, but felt like almost falling out of his chair when he placed his hand on Harry’s thigh and whispered in his ear, “Finish your fucking tart already, I want to do something.”

They left the eighth year table together not long after, waving their goodbyes to Ron and Hermione, who both had annoyingly knowing looks on their faces as they watched them leave. Harry made to walk up the marble staircase when Draco tugged on his wrist, nodding his head in the direction of the staircase leading to the East Towers. Harry didn’t ask any questions, just watched his self-satisfied expression curiously, 

They met nobody on their way there, thankfully, as it would have been rather difficult to explain what they were doing sneaking around the towers whilst everybody else was at dinner (even more so when Harry literally didn’t know the reason). Once Draco had dragged him all the way up the stairs, he leaned against one of the doors, one that Harry had been entering for almost all of his years at Hogwarts. He raised a brow at him.

“Are we here to see Flitwick for something?” he asked, fully aware that Flitwick was down in the Great Hall with the rest of the teachers and student body, pigging out on some delicious pudding. 

“No,” Draco said simply, pushing open the door and letting Harry inside first. “Go and stand behind his desk.”

Harry chuckled, murmured, “Alright, then,” and hesitantly let go of Draco’s hand to do as he was told. Leaning against the desk, he tilted his head at his boyfriend, waiting for him to explain just what the hell was going on, and what on earth he was planning.

“It’s our last night at Hogwarts, as you well know,” he began, closing the door behind him. “And so, it came to me that this may be our last chance to do this in an… appropriate setting, for lack of a better word. But you seemed entirely interested in the idea when it was mentioned before, and, well, what can they do at this point, really? Expel us?”

“Baby,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Care to explain what’s going on?”

Draco took a deep breath, sat atop of one of the desks, and said, “Of course, Professor. I’d be glad to.”

Harry’s heart did a flip and he felt as if butterflies had suddenly erupted in every part of his body. His mouth dry, cheeks hot, he studied Draco for a long moment, lips twitching upwards at the corners. And then he said, “Mr Malfoy, I’m afraid that your homework recently has been less than satisfactory. If this continues…”

“Please, Professor,” Draco interrupted, and Harry could have preened at the way that he purred that damn word at him, looking up at him with round, sultry eyes. “I need to get an O for this class in my N.E.W.T.s, otherwise my career prospects will be _awful_.”

“I suppose you should have thought of that, shouldn’t you?”

“You’re absolutely right, sir.”

Harry bit his lip at the stirring he felt in his abdomen at Draco calling him fucking _sir._ “Well,” he continued, trying to mask how horny he was, hoping it didn’t show through in his voice. “If you absolutely _have to_ get an O in my class, do you have any ideas on how you could get some extra credit?”

“Yes, sir. I have a few ideas, actually.”

And he sank to his knees, gazing up into Harry’s eyes as he unbuckled his belt for him, moving on quickly to unzipping his trousers when Harry slid his hand into the soft blond hair set before him. Clearly pleased to see that Harry was already showing obvious excitement at the situation, he took hold of his dick, half-hard already, and began to slowly jerk it in his hand.

“Professor?” he murmured. “Is this okay?”

“God, yes,” he answered, tugging a little on his hair again. “I think you’re looking at an A right now.”

“Only an A?” Draco huffed. He narrowed his eyes up at Harry, almost as if challenging him, and took the head of his cock between his lips. The stagger in Harry’s breathing must have spurred Draco on because he was soon sucking him down almost completely, taking him down his throat in that expert way that Harry would admire for the rest of his life. When he thought that Harry was enjoying too much, he pulled off of him with a wet _pop!_ that sounded more obscenely attractive every time that he did it. Instead, he licked around the head like a lollipop, long fingers holding it up at the base. He looked into his eyes and asked him, “What about now, Professor?”

“Now,” Harry said, his voice shaking more than he thought was rather necessary (and he cursed his body for it). “I’d say now, Mr Malfoy, you’re definitely looking at an Exceeds Expectations.”

“Still not an O?” he asked, licking a drop of pre-cum away. His eyes darkened. “What can I do, Professor? Tell me what I should do.”

Harry stared down at him for only a moment, his mind still trying to decide whether or not he was lucky enough for this to be his reality, and pulled his belt out of its loops in his trousers, telling him firmly, “Bend over the table.”

Draco stood up, eyeing up the belt in Harry’s hands hungrily. “Professor?”

“Bend over,” Harry repeated, cocking an eyebrow. “Hands behind your back.”

Draco did as he was told to do, bending over the desk in front of him and placing his arms behind his back, grinning at Harry all the time that he did so. Harry reached down, stroking himself as he circled the belt around Draco’s wrists, fastening them in place. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything quite as arousing as this. 

He reached out, placing a hand onto Draco’s ass. He asked, “Are you wearing anything underneath your robes, Mr Malfoy?”

“No, sir,” Draco told him, pushing back into Harry’s hand. “You can check if you want.”

Harry drew in a deep breath that doubled earnestly as a moan, thumbing the slit of his own cock as he took a step back to flip up Draco’s robes and admire the utter artwork in front of him. 

“Fuck, Draco,” he whispered, forgetting himself for a moment. “I’m going to vanish your robes. Okay?”

Draco nodded, and that was enough for Harry to take out his wand and cast a breathy, “ _Evanesco.”_

And he’d thought that it couldn’t get any better than it was before? This, this sight before him was quite possibly more valuable than diamonds, he thought to himself, looking upon Draco Malfoy bent over a desk, completely naked, hands tied behind his back. He gulped as the view sank in, nothing short of utter perfection. 

“I’m —” he began, and had to stop to rub his eyes. He’d forgotten to blink. He took Draco’s ass in his hands, spread his cheeks apart, and said, “I’m going to fuck you now, Mr Malfoy. That’ll get you an O in my class. Are you okay with that?”

“Yes, Professor. I - I want you to fuck me,” he told him, breath heavy with each word spoken. “Please, sir, get inside of me. I’m all ready for you, I promise.”

“You are?” Harry pressed his middle finger to Draco’s hole and was surprised to find it already slick there, all tightness and tension gone. “Christ, Mr Malfoy, you really did come prepared, didn’t you?”

Draco nodded quickly, pushing back against Harry’s finger. “Come on, Professor,” he whined. “Your next class will be here soon, won’t they?”

And Harry was struck by the fact that whilst it was now after dinner and no more classes would be going on today, students would soon be flooding the halls, any of which could stumble into this classroom. Not to mention Flitwick. But Harry _really_ didn’t want to be thinking about Flitwick right now.

Harry took hold of his shaft and pressed the head straight in between Draco’s cheeks, resting for a moment against his entrance before pressing ahead without another word. He kept pushing inside until he bottomed out and Draco’s mouth was hanging wide open, eyes screwed shut.

“You like that?” Harry asked. “You like being opened on my cock, Malfoy?”

“Merlin, yes!” he gasped in response. “Move, move, come on, I can handle it.”

“I’m sure you can,” Harry commented, pulling out a couple of inches before snapping his hips in again, relishing in the sound of skin slapping on skin between the two of them. He trailed fingers down his back as he began to gather a rhythm of fucking into him, leaving faint red lines on his porcelain skin, until he reached the area where Draco’s hands lay bound. He wrapped his fingers around the leather and used it then as leverage, using it to pull Draco back roughly to meet every one of his thrusts forwards. 

“H- Harry-!”

“No,” he hushed him, using his other hand to keep a handful of his behind. “What do you call me, Mr Malfoy?”

“F- Fuck,” he moaned, saliva trickling out of his open mouth and onto the desk beneath his face. “Professor, Merlin, right - right there, please —”

Harry refocused where he was aiming and snapped his hips forwards, pushing into the spot that Draco had hailed. “There?” he asked. “You like it there?”

“Y- _Yes!_ Oh, _fuck,_ Ha- Professor, Professor, harder, I want — I _need_ —”

_Wham._ Harry’s head snapped towards the door.

There Ron stood, looking absolutely crestfallen, mouth agape with a late Charms essay in his hands. He stared at the two of them, gaze flicking here and there and back again until his face flooded a hot scarlet and he burst out, “Are you two fucking _kidding me?!”_

They similarly remained as they were, absolutely frozen in shock, though Draco was the first to make any sign of life again as Ron slammed the door shut and shouted through it something unimportant about locking charms. He burst out laughing, the sort of laugh that would normally have him covering his mouth. But as he couldn’t do that at the moment, Harry gazed at him and his smile.

Now, he reflected, the only thing he was curious about was a life continued with the man at his side, who had his head tipped back, hair falling around his face, cheeks wide with a blinding smile, laughter spilling from his reddened lips like a promise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHHHHH my gosh. oh my gosh. can i just say thank you guys so so so so much for sticking with me through this fic! it’s my baby!!! (been my baby for longer than i’d like to admit it took to write this ...)  
> hope you’re all doing okay. love you all loads!  
> all kudos , bookmarks and especially comments are INSANELY appreciated and i try to respond to any and all comments i receive! Thanks so much again !
> 
> AGAIN!  
> WONDERFUL ARTWORK DONE FOR THIS FIC CAN BE FOUND [HERE](https://twitter.com/grimler19/status/1304865178559885313?s=21) BY THE LOVELY @Grimler19 CHECK THEM OUT ❤️❤️❤️

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on twitter @greyclouding!
> 
> AGAIN BRILLIANT ART FOR THIS FIC CAN BE FOUND [HERE](https://twitter.com/grimler19/status/1304865178559885313?s=21) !


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